


Bridge

by Zethsaire



Series: Omega Bucky Verse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Brainwashing, Canon Disabled Character, Canonical Character Death, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Dubious Consent, Evil Science Nazi's, Extremis Pepper Potts, Flashbacks, Gender Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jealousy, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Minor Original Character(s), Miscarriage, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Non-Binary Bucky Barnes, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-binary character, Omega Bucky Barnes, Original Transgender Character, Other, Panic Attacks, Permanent Injury, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slice of Life, Telepathic therapy, Therapy, suicidal behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:45:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zethsaire/pseuds/Zethsaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky's journey from Bucky's draft through Winter Soldier, and into Bucky's recovery and gender exploration.  Steve attempts to help Bucky recover, and Bucky begins to realize that maybe he's not just a 'man,' anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! I've finally started posting the fic I wrote for NaNo from last year. Yay! That being said, I've done a LOT of research about 1940's things, but there's every chance something might not be historically accurate, so if anyone is a huge history buff and would like to beta that part of the fic, contact me on tumblr!! :D
> 
> Warnings will be posted per chapter. For this one, there's a lot of things about gender issues, using omega problems as a metaphor, medical experiments, and accidental sterilization. Also Bucky's potty mouth.

Steve came home from his afternoon figure drawing class with two fresh bruises on his face, to find Bucky sitting at the kitchen table where he'd left him this morning. Except now he was drunk, a bottle of cheap brandy next to him that was half gone, and a chipped glass with about a half-inch of amber liquid in it. Bucky didn't even look up at him, he was too busy staring at something on the table.

“Did you even go to work today Bucky?”

“I got drafted, Steve.”

“What?”

“I got drafted. Look.” Bucky pushed the cheap paper across the table.

_Notice to appear for physical examination_ , the form said. _You are hearby directed to appear before this Local Board for physical examination at_ 9 _am on May 4, 1941._ “But that's good, right? I mean – don't you want to serve our country? I've already applied three times. If you can go, you should go.”

“Steve, omega's aren't allowed to join the army. We have to join the Omega Auxiliary Army Corp. I registered as an alpha so I could keep my job.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Bucky downed the rest of the brandy in the glass, and poured himself more. “They just might notice I don't have a fucking knot, and that I _do_ have a uterus.”

“Are the physical exams really that invasive? I mean, it's not like you're a woman trying to sneak in.”

Bucky glared at him. “I'm pretty sure a simple pheromone or blood test will give me away, Steve. Not to mention the first time I go into heat around a platoon of fucking alphas, getting court martialed will be the _best case_ scenario.”

“Well, shit.” Steve sat down heavily at the table, his bag sliding from his shoulders to land in a heap beside him. He took the glass from Bucky's fingers and drank half of it in one go, the alcohol burning its way down his throat. He'd probably pay for drinking later, but right now he didn't care so much.

“Tell me about it. I don't know what I'm gonna do.”

“Well...” This wasn't really a case where Steve could help by pretending to be the omega of the two of them. Even if he covered Bucky in his scent before he went to the exam, that wouldn't help if they did a blood test, and it certainly wouldn't get rid of Bucky's heat.

“You wouldn't have heats if you were pregnant but that's not really gonna help.”

“No, not really. I did think about that though. But I'm pretty sure they'd notice a baby bump, and what the hell would I do in nine months anyways? Have the damn kid out in the field?”

Bucky knocked back the rest of the glass. He looked completely miserable. “I'm gonna sign up for one of those long-term heat suppressants.”

“Are you kidding me? Those haven't even been tested yet! You know Anna, from apartment 3b? She tried those and got so sick she had to go to the hospital! And she _still_ got pregnant!”

“I ain't taking it so I won't get pregnant Steve. I just want to be able to join the damn army without getting thrown in jail!”

“But what if something happens to you?”

“Look, Steve, I get what you're sayin. I do. But if it was you, and all you had to do to join the army was get a damn shot, you'd do it. I know you would.”

Steve bit his lip. “'S not the same at all.”

“It _is_. I don't even particularly want to go; I could die, you know. But you can't go, and I can, if I can pass the damn physical, and if I don't everyone'll know I'm omega, and I'll lose my job and then where will we be? I gotta do this, Steve.”

There was no arguing with Bucky when he'd gotten his mind set on something. And Bucky said Steve was the stubborn one. “Fine. When're you gonna do it?”

“There's an opening at the free clinic tomorrow. I was thinking – would you come with me?”

“Of course I would. And if anyone asks, it's me getting the shot. You know, because I get sick during my heats.”

“That's not why I want you to come. I – just really would like it if you were there.”

“Oh. Yeah Buck, of course I'll come.” Steve wasn't Bucky's alpha; that much was clear between the two of them. Steve and Bucky were best friends; inseparable, in fact, but they'd never formally claimed each other or even talked about it. They didn't have sex outside Bucky's heat or Steve's rut, or go on dates, or anything. Steve didn't know _what_ they were, but they weren't together. Not – officially, anyway. They couldn't be together legally in any case, unless Bucky was pregnant, and that was not going to happen. Bucky was careful, and only ever dated women – usually omega females or betas. He'd never gone on a date with another alpha, not just because it was considered more perverted than if he'd been with Steve, but because he also didn't want to chance getting pregnant. Or so he'd said, any way. Steve liked to dream sometimes that it was because he didn't want to be with an alpha that wasn't Steve, but he barely even allowed himself to hope that, much less say it out loud.

“Thank you. How was your day? Tell me before I'm too drunk to care.”

So Steve did. He eventually made them some soup with a leftover pork bone and some cabbage, served over potatoes, which Bucky barely touched, claiming he'd filled up on liquor. Steve didn't comment, and ate every last bit.

xxx

The clinic was small and shabby, not that they could afford anything else. Steve wasn't the only alpha there, but he was the tiniest, and the only one with a male omega. It was distinctly uncomfortable, but Steve was glad that Bucky didn't have to be there alone. Steve couldn't make Bucky an alpha, but he could stand at the counter with Bucky so that the people in the waiting room would think he was the omega in the relationship. He sat beside Bucky as he filled out the paperwork, and went back up with him to turn it in.

Bucky didn't sit after that, instead leaning against the wall with his hands clenched into fists. The list of possible complications to the procedure were long and terrifying. Steve didn't dare squeeze Bucky's hand, even here, but he placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder, hoping he was at least a little reassuring.

The procedure itself was short. They were called into the back, and Bucky was weighed and measured, they took his temperature and pulse. Then they swabbed his arm with some kind of antiseptic, and delivered a rather innocent looking shot full of clear liquid. Then it was over. They thanked Bucky, and he was handed three crisp ten-dollar bills with the instruction to follow up in six months if he was able, and if not, they would be sending a letter via correspondence. If he did happen to suffer from one of the more severe side effects, he was to come back to the clinic for a follow up.

“What was that, Buck?” Steve asked, once they'd cleared the building. That was a _lot_ of money.

“It was an experiment.” Bucky said stiffly, “you get paid for participating. Or did you think that many omegas are willing to risk sterilization for nothing? Besides, I missed work yesterday, and we still gotta eat don't we? This'll help.”

“Are you going to work today?”

“Gotta. At least for a couple hours. They knew I was taking the day off because of the draft notice, but if I take too much time off they'll get suspicious.”

“You can just tell them I was sick again.”

“If I have to. I just – I only got a few weeks left, Steve. I just want things to be as normal as possible until then. Besides, I've gotta make sure you can eat while I'm gone, right? And I won't get my first check till I pass basic. I worry about you.”

“I'll be fine, Buck. I'm more worried about how that shot's gonna affect you.”

“Don't worry about it Steve. It'll be okay.”

xxx

He wasn't. Bucky went to work that afternoon, just like he'd said, but came home early with a raging fever. He was sick all through the night, with Steve doing what he could to help, laying cold compresses on Bucky's hot skin, giving him some of their precious pain medication, covering Bucky with blankets when he shivered, and trying not to cough too much around him. Steve wasn't ever very well, but he'd been doing about as well as he ever did the last few weeks, and he was grateful now that he could take care of Bucky.

The next day he notified his professors he wasn't coming to class, and let Mr. Jenkins know he couldn't come help at the general store that day, because Bucky had taken a turn for the worse. He went and got Bucky's mother, because while Steve had a general idea of how to manage his various ailments, and power through the worst of his symptoms when all he wanted to do was pass out, he had no idea how to help Bucky.

Irene came over and sat with her son while he moaned and shivered and vomited frequently into the bucket beside the bed. Steve lay with him, sharing as much body heat as he could while Bucky got worse and worse. Steve couldn't even smell him any more – his scent had dried up, leaving the smell of sweat and sickness behind.

When Bucky started bleeding, they knew they had to get the doctor. Steve went to the clinic, since he knew where it was, while Irene stayed with Bucky and tried to keep him awake and staunch the bleeding as best she could, pressing old towels between Bucky's legs while he moaned incoherent things at her. Steve ran all the way to the clinic, racked by coughs when he finally arrived, wasting precious minutes catching his breath. His lungs felt like iron in his chest, but he stumbled inside, still wheezing, begging for the doctor.

Apparently he'd made enough of a scene because a nurse hustled him into the back, where Steve stumbled over his words trying to explain what had happened. Whether the doctor was worried about his own credibility, was genuinely concerned for Bucky, or just took pity on Steve's pathetic form, Steve didn't know, but the important thing was that the doctor gathered his bag and followed Steve back to their tiny, shabby tenement.

The doctor shooed Irene and Steve out into the other room while he worked, and he was in the room caring for Bucky for a long, long time. Irene insisted on making tea, and sat Steve in front of it and had him breathe in the steam until his lungs loosed a little. Steve tried to remain calm, but he was terrified. Bucky had never been sick like this before. It was entirely different when you were on this side of death's door.

Finally the doctor came out, his coat spattered with Bucky's blood. Steve feared the worst when the doctor sat down at the table with them.

“As you no doubt have guessed, Mr. Barnes suffered an adverse reaction to the long term suppressant. I've stopped the bleeding, but he will need to remain on bed rest for several days. Give him fluids, broth, water, anything he will keep down. His body has exhausted itself, but his fever should come down in the next few hours. I have left penicillin and a mild pain reliever that he is to take every twelve hours until they are gone.”

The doctor still looked grave, but Steve let out the breath he'd been holding. Bucky wasn't dead, wasn't dying. He'd been so sure that it would be like his mother's death all over again.

“I am afraid that Mr. Barnes has been rendered sterile.”

Irene inhaled sharply, and Steve just stared at the doctor, not comprehending. Sterile?

“He will no longer go into heat, his omega systems seem to have shut down completely. There was extensive bleeding in the uterus, and significant ovarian deposits that suggest his ovaries have been completely destroyed. It's an extremely rare reaction to the suppressant, but I am afraid Mr. Barnes has been rendered presentationless.”

“What – what does that mean? I. It's permanent?”

“I'd like to do a follow up with him when he's feeling better, but yes, mostly likely it is permanent.”

“What can we do for him?” Irene asked.

“Physically there is not much you can do. If he has an alpha, the scent may be reassuring to him. He may also find it off putting, now that he is no longer able to bear young. The best thing you can do for him is give him time and allow him to heal. Does Mr. Barnes have a job?”

“Um. Yeah, Bucky works at the docks.”

The doctor gave Steve a hard look. The docks were no place for an omega. “I saw you at the appointment with him. Have you been pretending to be the omega of the two of you?”

Steve bit his lip and looked at Irene. If the doctor reported them, Steve and Bucky could both be arrested. Irene could be fined for conspiracy. The doctor had the upper hand here. Even if they could do anything, or file any sort of charges, no one would listen to a poor, chronicly ill kid over a doctor. But Bucky's well being was more important than even the threat of jail.

“Yes. I'm – sick, a lot. I've been on suppressants since I was thirteen. People don't have any trouble believing I'm omega.”

“Regardless, Mr. Barnes should not be doing any heavy lifting for the next few weeks, or he will risk re-tearing his uterus. He should not return to work.” The doctor gave him a heavy gaze that clearly said that he expected Steve to keep Bucky from working, as Bucky's alpha.

“I understand.”

“Now. As a young man hiding his presentation and working a job he is socially unfit for, I assume the reason Mr. Barnes has sought treatment at this time is because he received a draft notice?”

“I – yes. Two days ago. How did you know?”

“Your situation is not as unique as you might think, Mr. Rogers. I cannot guarantee he will not be arrested for alpha impersonation, but our government is rather in need of fit young men overseas, and aside from this complication, Mr. Barnes seems to be in good health. I am going to write a recommendation that since he has been sterilized and therefore will not cause the usual complications of having an omega in the field, that Mr. Barnes be accepted into the U.S. Army. He should take it to his medical examination.”

“Thank you.”

At this the doctor sighed. “Despite what you have heard, Mr. Rogers, some of us do genuinely care what happens to our omega patients. Please let me know if Mr. Barnes does not improve.”

The doctor pulled a form out of his bag and filled it out, handing it to Steve before getting up. Steve looked around for the money they had been given the other day, but Bucky had likely already given it to their land lady, or the pharmacy, or spent it on groceries.

“You don't need to pay me, Mr. Rogers. I hope Mr. Barnes makes a full recovery.”

“Thank you.”

“Good evening.”

Steve laid with Bucky that night, on sheets stained with Bucky's blood, holding him. Bucky was delirious for the next two days, and on the third, tried to go back to work. Steve actually thought he was going to have to tie Bucky to the bed to keep him there.

“Steve, I gotta go to work. How are we going to pay our bills?”

“Your mom gave me a loan. It'll be okay, Bucky.”

There were tears in Bucky's eyes. “Ain't nothing ever gonna be okay again. I'm _sterile_ Steve. I – _fuck_. I really fucked up.”

“You were doing what you thought you had to do. It's okay.”

“Guess I don't gotta worry about you helping me through heats any more.” Bucky said bitterly.

“You'll be fine. You're gonna join the army, and you're gonna be fucking awesome. And you'll come back and we'll – I don't know. Get a place together again and cause scandal in the neighborhood.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah. That sounds like you.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Major Character Death refers to canonical character death of Bucky. ABO as a vehicle for exploring gender roles. Warnings for references to suicide, miscarriage, possible dub con (Bucky/Steve go into heat/rut together), foul language, jealousy, misinterpreted relationships. References to medical experimentation (canon, Steve and Bucky.)
> 
> I think that should be it!
> 
> This chapter is probably the most depressing in the fic. Hell, in the series. Hang in there, things will get better.

Apparently all the stress and worry had been for nothing. With the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the Army was more than willing to take a certified sterile omega into their ranks, and Bucky went away for basic and came back with his orders and the rank of Sergeant. Steve was ridiculously proud of him, even if it burned bitterly to have his omega friend in the army when he as an alpha had tried four times already and been rejected each time.

Then Bucky was gone, and Steve was being shipped to Camp Lehigh, and the serum injection, Erskine's death, the tours and war bonds sales. Steve barely had time to take a breath, much less any time to come to terms with the changes that had happened to his body. He could _breathe_ now – he could take a breath without bands of iron constricting his chest. Not only could he breathe, he could run. He'd never been able to run before, not without paying for it for days afterwords. He was strong; without even working at it he could lift a whole motorcycle with three girls on top. He finally felt like an alpha for the first time in his life.

And the ruts – god, the ruts. He'd been in a near constant rut since coming off the table; suppressants just barely took the edge off. There was never any relief. He didn't care as much – he could control himself. He _wanted_ of course; there was always that burning need just simmering under the surface, but he didn't want any of the people he was surrounded with. He only wanted Bucky, and that wasn't ever going to happen. Besides the fact that they were on different sides of the fucking ocean, Bucky had never felt that way about him. They'd been best friends, Steve had helped Bucky through countless heats but. They'd never even brought up the option of mating. Never even _thought_ about it. It was illegal, in any case.

Now that Steve was a full-blooded alpha, he should be finding a female omega. Not in the middle of the war – he had things to do, but that was what was expected of him. Some of the chorus girls threw themselves at him, some were afraid of him, until they all figured out that he had absolutely no interest in any of them, biology be damned. The only woman he was _remotely_ interested in was Agent Carter, who was just as unsuited for him as Bucky, because she was a female alpha. It was – slightly less frowned upon; it wasn't _illegal_ because Steve was male and she was female, but it was about as scandalous as if Steve had declared that female omegas didn't do anything for him, and he preferred men, thank you very much. Both affectations could get him court-martialed.

Everything changed when he found Bucky strapped to that damn table. Bucky was muttering his serial number over and over, he looked awful, but what hit Steve the hardest was the _smell_. Bucky was in a full-blown heat; so far gone that Steve couldn't tell if he was delirious because of the drugs or the heat. Steve was instantly in a full rut, so hard he ached inside his clothes. But there wasn't _time_ for that – he had to get Bucky out of there. His protective instincts surged, he was flooded with testosterone, adrenalin, alphogyn. _Bucky, Bucky, Bucky._

“issat...?”

“It's me, it's Steve.”

“Steve...” Bucky slurred, pressing his nose into the scent gland at Steve's wrist, giving a little moan. “Smells good.”

“C'mon,” Steve hauled Bucky to his feet, trying his best to ignore everything in him that said take Bucky, take him _now_ , Bucky was _his_. They had to get out of here.

“I thought you were dead,” he breathed, unable to keep that back.

Bucky looked up at him, squinting in confusion through the sweat dripping down his skin. “I thought you were smaller. What happened to you?”

“I joined the army.” Steve quipped.

Bucky snorted, but let Steve help him out of there.

Then there was the Red Skull, and his heart leaping out of his chest when Bucky nearly fell going across that girder, and the terrifying leap that he definitely wouldn't have made if he hadn't been in full fucking rut and barely coherent, and the long march back to base. He was terrified at first they were going to have problems, with Bucky surrounded by all those damn alphas, but apparently he didn't smell much like heat to anyone who didn't know him, not under the smell of all the meds and blood and grime and sweat. And he smelled like Steve in any case, so they didn't have any problems at all with the men.

Back at the base was a different story. Once Bucky had been cleaned up and seen medical, it was extremely obvious that he was in heat. There was talk of sending him off with a blue discharge, because it just wasn't done to have an omega in the military, not when he was capable of going into heat. Steve had to pull out all the stops. He said if they sent Bucky away they'd have to discharge him, too, because he was in rut and couldn't stop.

Eventually Agent Carter had stepped in. “Gentleman, there is an obvious solution to this. If Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are both willing?”

Bucky and Steve had looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes; it was damn obvious what Agent Carter was suggesting. Steve was more than a little humiliated but he was damn willing. That apparently settled matters, and they were shuffled off to a secluded tent on the outskirts of the camp with heat supplies, extra sheets and a discreet guard at the door in less than half an hour. Steve was inside Bucky less than a minute after that.

“You – sure know how to show a guy a good time,” Bucky panted. “So romantic.”

“You know you like it.” Steve groaned, letting the rut roll over him. It was such a relief to not hold back any more. “Though I'm not sure that doing this bareback is the smartest thing we've ever done. What if you get pregnant Buck?”

“Don't be an idiot Steve. Just because I somehow managed to get a heat triggered by those assholes doesn't mean I ain't sterile. What, you think my ovaries just miraculously grew back? Now shut up and fuck me.”

“So – so _demanding_.”

Having an orgasm when he didn't have to worry about an asthma attack, or the pain from his crooked spine, or any of his other health ailments, was – _amazing._ He'd thought sex was good before, but it didn't have anything on coming inside Bucky without a condom on, when he had no trouble just fucking Bucky through it. Bucky apparently approved, too, because he came before Steve was even done, his orgasm making Steve come harder.

They laid together for almost an hour afterwords, because apparently he had a fully functioning knot now, and they actually got to experience getting Bucky off a second time on his knot; something they'd never been able to achieve before.

“I gotta say, Stevie, I still don't know how I feel about your new everything, but I am kinda attached to your knot.”

“You're hilarious.”

“I know.”

They just lay together, Steve holding Bucky close, breathing in the scent of him. This was what he wanted. He knew it. Everyone else was just – he wanted _Bucky_. He knew it was wrong. He knew that if they did end up together, officially, he was damning Bucky to a life of shame. But it didn't stop him from wanting.

“...hey, Steve?” Bucky said, once they'd separated and cleaned up. “Do you think -”

But he was interrupted by a sharp rap on the wall of the tent, calling Steve away to be debriefed. By the time he was done, Bucky's heat had faded away, and they were all being shipped off to London. Bucky agreed to join his team, but he never brought up whatever it was he was going to say back in the tent. Peggy showed up in her red dress, and Steve had a confusing moment where she was clearly making advances, and Bucky was making advances on _her_. He had this wild moment of thought that if he couldn't be happy and have Bucky, maybe he could set up Bucky with Agent Carter. Male omegas were supposed to be with female alphas. But she didn't seem interested in him, though he was more than interested in her.

Bucky didn't seem interested in Steve at all, any more. He didn't sleep next to Steve at night, even when the camp was small and they were huddled together for warmth, he always had one of the other guys between he and Steve. He had a picture of Agent Carter in his compass, which Steve had to borrow more than once, and then everyone got entirely the wrong idea about. Bucky seemed withdrawn, and ill. Steve tried to tell himself it was just exhaustion and short rations, but whenever they were back at base, Bucky would disappear with Agent Carter for hours, and he just kept coming back looking worse and worse. Agent Carter maintained a professional level of conduct between the two of them, but she still made her interest apparent, and Steve just didn't understand. Were she and Bucky together or not? He didn't dare ask, but if that wasn't what was going on, then what was?

Then came the fateful mission. It was about six months after he'd rescued Bucky, and they were out scouting the next Hydra base they were about to take down. They'd been on half rations for the last couple of weeks, and Bucky hadn't been feeling very well, but none of them had been. It was hot and muggy, and awful. Bucky got suddenly and severely ill. There was blood _everywhere_.

They pulled out of there, got Bucky back to the doctor, but Steve already knew what had happened. Bucky had had a miscarriage.

 _Bucky had been pregnant_.

Agent Carter insisted that they not abandon their mission, and that she would take care of Bucky, so they went back to the base and Steve razed it to the ground. He took out his terror and frustration on Hydra troops. He was probably a bit more vicious than necessary but. Bucky had been _pregnant._ Was it- it had to be Steve's. Right? Or – all that looking at Agent Carter...it couldn't have been hers, right?

He couldn't stop thinking about it, the whole time. He could tell the men were worried about him; about the whole situation. But no one dared to ask the question that Steve was thinking.

They gave Bucky a private tent in medical. He smelled like omega again, and blood. Steve didn't even stop to be debriefed, he just went straight to Bucky's side. Bucky was awake, and on the good drugs, smiling at Steve in that vacant way over-morphine'd patients had. Steve sat down and gripped Bucky's hand and said,

“Was it mine?”

Bucky's face fell and Steve realized what he'd said. He hadn't meant to be so – insensitive about it. But it had been said, and Steve really, really wanted to know. He needed to know.

“Yeah.” Bucky whispered hoarsely. “Yeah. It was.”

“Fuck.” Steve's whole world stopped. His – his _child_ was dead. He hadn't even known that he had one until now, and now – now it was too late.

“The rations. You gave me your rations. _Bucky._ Did I -” What if he'd done this?

“No. No, Steve.” Bucky was earnest. Devastated, but earnest. “Steve, the doctor said I woulda lost it either way. I shouldn't have even been able to _get_ pregnant. There's nothing _left_ down there and I. I'm sorry I didn't tell you.”

“I thought. I thought you were with Peggy.” Steve said bitterly.

Bucky's laugh bordered on hysterical. “No, Steve. No. That was just – just a cover. To protect you. Everyone who knows I'm an omega expects it. And when I found out I was pregnant I - needed to go after a female alpha. And Peggy's pretty, and she's smart. And she agreed to help. She's been making me see the doctor. Helping me decide what to do. I was thinkin' about getting a termination but I. I knew that'd kill you so I was. Hell, I don't know what I was doing Steve. Do you hate me?”

“No! No. I don't hate you. I – I wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me, but no. I don't hate you. I _love_ you, Bucky. I'm _sorry_. I'm sorry our baby is dead.”

Saying it out loud didn't make it any better.

xxx

Bucky healed, and insisted on being back on the team as soon as possible. He didn't smell like omega any more, and Steve didn't ask if he'd gotten on more suppressants. Things were strained between them. Bucky watched his back, continued to prove he was the best damn sniper in the army and no medical situation was going to take that from him. The team functioned as a cohesive whole, the Commandos accepting Bucky back into their ranks with no word about why he'd been gone. Reception elsewhere was – frosty. People didn't take too kindly to an omega who many considered to only be in the army because of Steve's favoritism, and an unfortunate amount of them had known about Bucky's pregnancy.

Something – changed between he and Bucky. Bucky started sleeping next to him at night. They _still_ didn't talk about whatever this was between them. Steve just – couldn't. Not after everything Bucky had been through. If he wanted to talk about it, then they would, but Bucky never said anything. He just sat next to Steve, would put a hand on his shoulder, watch his back, sleep just barely touching him, but they didn't have sex again, and Bucky didn't talk about it.

Steve decided he was going to break the silence and talk to Bucky. Right after they got done with this mission. It was snowing, they were going to be jumping onto a damn train, Bucky didn't need the distraction. Right after this mission, Steve would tell him all about how he felt. How he didn't care if it wasn't legal, he wanted to be with Bucky. That he wanted to try for kids again, after the war, if Bucky wanted. And if they had to rope in an alpha female to be their cover, well, he loved Peggy too, even if Bucky was the first person in his heart. He didn't know if she'd be up for that, but it was worth considering. He just wanted Bucky, any way he could have him.

And then Bucky fell.

That part of Steve fell with him. He hadn't even _known_ ; it wasn't supposed to be possible. Mating was a conscious decision, something that was only supposed to happen after marriage. No one really did a claiming bite any more, but it was an active thing. Both parties had to be consensual, you couldn't fake a mating bond. Except. Except Bucky was gone, and Steve felt like there was a hole inside him. Like he was just the walking wounded, carrying on step by step until he finally keeled over in death to join the rest of his soul.

The white hot fire of vengeance carried him through the Hydra base, the fight with Schmidt. But even Peggy's offer couldn't bring him back from the edge he walked. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted to be with Bucky again. And it wasn't suicide; it was necessary. He didn't know how to fly the plane, there wasn't any time to find another solution. He was saving millions of lives. When he put the plane in a nose dive, when he laid down on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest, it was okay, because there wasn't anything else he could do.

The chill of the lie was colder than the water that closed over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to be my factual history beta, let me know!! Also, comments and kudos keep me going. :D


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish Ao3 had an option for prologues. Now all my chapter numbers are messed up. :(
> 
> Right, so this is the chapter that sums up the Avengers and CA:TWS from Steve's POV. It's edited, and abbreviated; basically I just included things relevant to the plot of this story. Many people have done great in-depth retellings, and I just didn't feel like this fic was the place to do that. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it regardless!
> 
> Warnings: spoilers for the Avengers and CA:TWS if you haven't seen them, and any related movie warnings therin (body modification, language, violence, HYDRA, etc.)

Life in the modern area was different...and the same. All the cosmetic things were different; more variety of people, new electronics, new appliances, cars, homes, new views on education, politics, homosexuality, homopresentationism, new suppressants and new views on gender roles. And yet, it was utterly the same. The rich still had more than everyone else, there were still slums, still people who worked full time and yet couldn't put food on their table. There were still wars, still hate, still underlying prejudices about what someone could and couldn't do based on what was between their legs.

And Bucky was still dead.

Steve tried to throw himself back in; serve. He tried to bury himself in work, burn off his frustrations on punching bag after bag. Even the battle of New York couldn't pull him out from under the weight of depression that seemed to hang over him. He knew he was doing good; he saved people, but it all seemed so pointless.

SHIELD tried to get Steve to see a psychiatrist. He sat there calmly, and said everything he knew they wanted to hear, and the psychiatrist signed him off for active duty. He didn't lie; he hadn't lost a partner in Bucky because he'd never had a chance to ask him. He was fine. He just wanted to work.

Natasha was the one who wormed her way through Steve's walls. She was his friend. The only bad thing about their relationship, besides not ever really knowing who she was, was that everyone seemed to think Captain America preferred to be in an relationship with alpha women. There was some misconception that he'd been an omega before the serum, and was an alpha afterwords, and that's why he was in love with Agent Carter. It was interesting to see how they'd explained it all away, even if none of it was true. So Natasha kept trying to set him up with alpha women, and Steve had no idea how to tell her he preferred omega men.

Just because it was _legal_ didn't make 'coming out,' as they called it now, any easier. He'd been hiding his whole life. He hadn't even gotten the chance to tell the man he'd been in love with; why would he share that part of himself with someone else? And there was the fact that the public was bound to find out, and Steve just. He couldn't deal with that. The questions, the prying. So he kept it to himself, and bore all Natasha's attempts to get him a date.

He was convinced he'd never meet anyone in this century who'd catch his interest – and then he met Sam. Sam was funny and _gorgeous_. And he was omega, though he was pretty subtle about it. Obviously on suppressants, just a hint of omega scent cologne. Steve couldn't help hitting on him. It just felt – easy again, for a moment.

But Sam was unfortunately straight. And that was okay; really it was. Steve hoped he found a nice alpha woman. It stung, even though Sam let him down very carefully. He clearly looked up to and admired Steve, but it just wasn't meant to be, apparently. Well, he _did_ need friends. It just – he was hoping for something more, for once.

He tried flirting with Kate, which was disastrous. He just couldn't _talk_ to women. He'd never been able to. Natasha was different; she was a friend, and he felt she understood him. Peggy too; eventually. But Kate was new and pretty and frightening. He didn't know what to say, even in this body that everyone seemed to find attractive.

All thoughts of relationships left his head when Nick was shot, right through Steve's walls. He couldn't help; couldn't save Nick's life, but he could track down his shooter. Steve could smell him – the shooter _reeked_ of alpha. How he'd even managed to tail Fury, Steve wasn't sure. He rolled out onto the rooftop and hurled his shield at the shadow and -

The man caught it. With a metal arm, glinting dangerously in the moonlight. And tossed it back at him, hard enough to actually knock the wind out of him. And the _scent_. The shadow had only touched the shield with his metal arm, but it stank of alpha and under that.

Bucky.

By the time Steve shook that off and ran to the edge, the shadow was gone. Steve could smell him, but the smell was so overpowering, he couldn't tell where it was coming from or where it had gone. He might as well have not had a scent at all; trailing the man was useless.

And he smelled of _Bucky._ Steve was furious. How did this alpha, this enemy, get Bucky's scent? It was exactly how he'd remembered it, and it made him sick to his stomach. The sweet citrusy scent of Bucky shouldn't be mixed with the overwhelmingly spicy thick scent of an alpha. Not an alpha that wasn't _Steve_ anyway.

He didn't even realize he was in a rut induced rage until Natasha took him aside and forced him to be calm. She even let out a bit of her own scent – beta, he hadn't known – which was like a bucket of cold water over his head after the confusing mix of scents from the shadow.

“You've got to focus Steve. We have work to do.”

Like going undercover and discovering a secret Hydra facility within SHIELD, apparently. Steve hated undercover. He was terrible at it. He much preferred to fight head on, so it was almost a relief when the Winter Soldier broke through roof of the car.

Of course, that meant facing the Soldier and all his confusing pheromones. Steve was not at his best during the fight, to say the least. The Soldier liked to get close and personal, and pulled two different knives on him. And was apparently ambidextrous. The pheromones were ringing in Steve's head, making him crazy with alpha rut and more than a little lust. The Soldier still smelled like _Bucky._ It made Steve angry.

And then the Soldier's mask came off.

“Bucky?” It couldn't be. It _couldn't_. Bucky wasn't an alpha. You couldn't change your presentation, even now. Steve had checked. They were able to do all sorts of amazing things with surgery and replacement therapy, but they still hadn't unlocked the secret to changing a presentation. You just – couldn't.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The not-Bucky snarled in Bucky's voice.

Steve was utterly defeated. He didn't even fight Rumlow, he just went, completely numb.

“I don't understand,” he said, in the back of the van, still unable to shake Bucky's scent, “Bucky isn't an alpha.”

Sam seemed confused. “Maybe he just hid his scent really well.”

“No. No I _know_ he isn't an alpha,” Steve said, but didn't explain how. It was still so _raw_.

“How did he even survive? You can believe that he survived the fall, but not that he could be an alpha? Maybe it's not even him, Steve.”

“No. His whole unit was captured by Hydra. They experimented on him. I – I know that was Bucky. I don't know how but. It was _him_.”

The situation pulled him out of his confusion, anger and terror, though it boiled beneath the surface, coiling into a ball of unhappiness in the bottom of his stomach. He pulled himself together because he had to; people needed him. _Bucky_ needed him.

Bucky was waiting for him on the bridge. But he was cold; different. More – empty, somehow. And he didn't smell of his old scent at all any more, like they'd scrubbed it out of him. He stank overwhelmingly of alpha in full rut. He was angry, less controlled. Steve was struggling, kept letting hits through. He was just so _tired_ of fighting Bucky.

Then he had to _dislocate Bucky's shoulder_. It killed him to do it, to hear Bucky scream, to feel him struggle beneath him as Steve slowly choked the air out of him. But he had to, people were counting on him; millions of people were going to die if he didn't. And he hated every second of it.

It was worth it, because he was going to make it. He was going to save the day, save everyone. And Bucky wasn't dead. The gunshot rang out, pain stabbed through his middle. He could feel shock setting in, the pain of his injuries dragging on him, and he only pulled himself up through sheer willpower, placing the chip in the slot at the last possible second.

He didn't want to be extracted. He didn't want to be saved. Bucky had _shot_ him. A gut shot; a killing shot, if he didn't get treatment. And he didn't want to fight any more. He just wanted to let go.

And he probably would have, if Bucky hadn't gotten himself pinned. But his scream pulled Steve back, and he got Bucky free, even though he could feel it tearing up his insides. He was done fighting, even when Bucky pounded him hard enough to break his face, he just. He couldn't fight any more.

“Cuz I'm with ya - till the end of the line,” he gasped out, and Bucky's outstretched fist paused in mid air.

The helicarrier lurched, and Steve fell.

Was this what Bucky had felt like, when he'd fallen all those years ago? Steve didn't know. He couldn't know. He just knew he was fading. The last thing he saw was the shadow of an arm, coming towards him, and then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos really keep me going!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice, long chapter for you all today. :D
> 
> I'm adding non-consentual body modification to the tags; it's not really the right tag? Basically, Steve has to make some medical decisions for Bucky to save his life, and he's not capable of consenting. It probably touches on ableist behavior, but Steve makes it quite clear he's not comfortable doing so, and it's a very specific instance. But if any of that triggers you, read with caution.
> 
> Further warnings for Hydra and medical experimentation; i.e. they examine the arm and the horror within.

When Steve woke, the first thing he did was try and get out of bed. He wanted Bucky. Where was – where was he? Natasha had to wrestle him back to the bed, keep him from taking his IV's out. Apparently he'd woken briefly earlier and talked to Sam, and then had passed out again, but Steve didn't remember any of that. He needed to get to Bucky. He needed to find him. He was out there all alone and. What if he was still brainwashed? What if his memory was gone? What if Hydra had found him again? Steve _needed_ to get to Bucky.

Between Sam, Natasha, and a hallway full of agents, Steve was kept in his hospital bed until he'd made a full recovery. He spent most of this time thinking through everything Bucky had done, every bit of information he had on Hydra or the Winter Soldier, anything anyone would tell him. He formulated plan after plan for how to get Bucky back, but he had hardly any leads.

Then he met Fury by his own grave, and Natasha handed him the very thing he needed to get started.

“You might not want to pull on that thread,” Natasha warned him, as she handed him a folder of information all in Cyrillic.

“Thanks, Natasha. Be careful. Say hi to Clint for me.”

“I have no idea what you mean Steve. I'm always careful.” She also slipped him a pay per minute phone. “For emergencies.”

“Bye Natasha.”

“See you around.”

Sam turned to him, and said what Steve had been thinking since he'd woken up. “You're going after him.”

“You don't have to come...”

“I know. When do we start?”

xxx

After three months of nothing and a whole lot of disturbing reports in Russian, Steve gave in and called Tony. He'd translated the documents by hand, not even daring to type them into a computer program to translate them, in case someone was able to trace or record the information. He wasn't paranoid, but he knew what information in the wrong hands could accomplish, and he just not willing to put it out there. So he hadn't made much progress, either in the translation or in finding Bucky, and what he had uncovered had been. Horrifying.

The reports used the term 'subject,' never Bucky's name, never his gender or presentation, never anything that would indicate he was a human being instead of a rat or monkey or some other type of lab animal. Steve didn't understand all the medical jargon even when he'd translated it, but he knew enough to know that they'd found Bucky at the bottom of the ravine, broken but not dead, that they'd taken what was left of his arm off without anesthetic, that they'd pumped him full of drugs just to see what they'd do.

There was more, but Steve hadn't gotten to it yet. Pages and pages of procedures, and horrible, vague hints at greater tortures that weren't even deemed worth mentioning besides, _'Subject was uncooperative. Subject resisted procedures for three days, putting us behind schedule.'_ There was no indication of _what_ they'd done in those three days to get Bucky to 'cooperate' with them. It made Steve sick just thinking about it.

Tony answered on the third ring. “Hey Capsicle, how's it hanging? Honestly, when I gave you my private number I didn't expect you'd actually ever call it. You change your mind about moving into the tower?”

“No. Look, Tony I – I need your help.”

Steve could practically _hear_ Tony's eyebrows raise. “What does the All American Hero need my help with?”

It took a while to explain the entire thing. Steve had to start with the Winter Soldier, and Hydra, and the whole mess that went down in DC, though luckily Tony had read most of the leaked files on that anyway. And then he had to explain who the Winter Soldier _was_ , after being assured three times that the line was as secure as it was possible to be, and that JARVIS would stop anyone who attempted to overhear them.

Tony expressed Steve a device that was a tablet, computer and scanner all at once, and had a direct connection to JARVIS installed, which was more than a little disturbing, but Steve was willing to do anything at this point. With Sam's help, he scanned all the documents to JARVIS' servers, and sent everything to Tony, who promised that he would start looking immediately. He had an expert coming in to look at Bucky's file, apparently. Someone they could trust, he said, though he didn't tell Steve who it was.

Sam was a rock through everything. Steve was just about at the point where he was having trouble even sleeping, eating and remembering to take a shower, and Sam was patient and took the files away from him and talked at him until he took care of himself. Sam also got him to open up, and made no secret about the fact that he was acting as a counselor for Steve, who still refused to see a psychiatrist, even at the VA.

Sam was the one who got him through his rut, which was right on time, six months after his last one. He still wasn't used to having regular ruts; he wasn't expecting it. Sam didn't actually _help_ help him, but he arranged for a secure, scent-free room Steve could lock himself in, showed him all the available options there were now to help a single alpha through a rut, made sure Steve stayed hydrated and ate enough for his burning metabolism, and checked in on him once a day until Steve's rut burned out. There wasn't any judgment in him either, even when Steve ordered more sex toys online than he'd even known _existed._ Sam just nodded and commented on Steve having good taste.

Tony called the day after Steve's rut ended. “I think I've got something, Cap. Take a look at this security footage.”

It was grainy surveillance footage of an alleyway, though Steve couldn't tell what city it was from. There was a man and a woman arguing just in front of the alley, and the man raised a hand like he was going to hit the woman, and then he was getting tackled out of nowhere. Bucky – at least Steve thought it must be Bucky, though his hair was even longer and his eyes were wild and his clothes practically hung off him, started beating the shit out of the guy. He only stopped when the woman started screaming, and then he jumped up and looked like he might attack her, too, before grabbing his head and stumbling off down the alley.

“What am I looking at here, Tony?”

“Honestly? I'm not sure. It looks like he's never left DC. This was taken at the intersection of 7th and Broadway a few hours ago. I've got JARVIS monitoring everything in a fifteen block radius, but I don't think he's left that alley.”

“Why is he – he wasn't like that when we were fighting. He wasn't that unstable.”

“Well Cap, if what I'm looking at in these files is true, it could be anything; the brainwashing breaking down, the hormones driving him crazy. These files say they gave him presentation reassignment surgery, and that doesn't even exist yet. Bound to be problems with it. That expert I was talking about is arriving today, but in the meantime we need to get your guy secure before he hurts someone. I can be there in an hour -”

“I'll get him.”

“With all due respect Cap, you probably need some kind of sedatives or something -”

“I've got them. In my emergency med kit; the only sedatives that work on me. Should be enough to knock him out.”

“Fine, fine. I'll head your way for an extraction. Keep the phone on you, and be careful Steve.”

“Of course. I've got someone to watch my back.”

Sam just shook his head when Steve hung up. “Not that I'm not flattered and all, but do you really think this is a good idea? Just going up against him when he's unstable? He doesn't know you.”

“This was always the plan. Find him, bring him in.”

“I know, I'm just sayin', maybe we should be careful.”

“If Tony found that video, that means Hydra could have too. Or any of the agencies out there looking for the Winter Soldier. I'm not going to wait Sam.”

“Alright, I've got your back, you know I do.”

“Just – be careful, okay? If he's as far gone to his alpha as he was when we fought last, either of our scents is going to set him off.”

“Dude, of the two of us, you're the only one who stinks.”

Steve made a face. “Suppressants don't work on me.”

“After all this is over, we gotta fix that man. I like you, but I don't need to smell you all the time.”

“Deal. Let's get this done.”

As much as Steve wanted to just bike over there, they were trying to be inconspicuous, so they took Sam's Chevy Impala. Sam got out and played lookout; he had sharp eyes, and Steve was glad to have him. Steve headed down the alleyway on silent feet, fingering the vial of sedative in his pocket. They were in civvies, and he didn't want the vial to get broken in the probably inevitable fight.

The alley smelled of garbage and piss, and the unmistakable fetor of an Alpha in rut. It grated against Steve's senses; he hated the smell of someone else's rut as it was, but it was all twisted with the smell of _Bucky_ , and it was just wrong. It had all his instincts on full, screaming alert.

Bucky didn't even seem to register his approach. He was huddled against a dumpster, thin and wretched, pheromones pouring off him. He smelled like he'd been in full rut for days. Steve could see the sweat trickling down his skin. His eyes were dilated completely, only a tiny ring of blue iris around black pupil. He was shuddering, and banging his head against the dumpster, a low keening sound coming from his throat. His metal hand was wrapped up in his hair, and it looked like he'd torn half of it right out of his head.

“Bucky?”

“Уходи.” Bucky mumbled in Russian, his eyes not really tracking Steve's movements.

“Buck, it's me. Steve.”

“Geh zum teufel weg!” That was angry, he was looking in Steve's direction now, but there was no sign of recognition. Steve didn't even know if Bucky knew what he was saying.

“I'm here to help you, Buck.”

“Lasă-mă în pace!”

He was clearly far gone. It didn't even look like Bucky knew he was in rut, or even knew what was really going on around him. He yelled when Steve spoke to him, but he didn't stop banging his head against the dumpster and let Steve walk right up to him. Steve felt awful doing it, but it was obvious that Bucky was suffering.

“Sorry about this, Buck.”

He took the syringe out of his pocket and uncapped it, jabbed the needle into Bucky's neck and depressed it all the way. Bucky didn't even flinch, he just reached his flesh hand up to his neck, and moaned once before his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out. Steve caught him, and carefully extracted his hand from the death grip it had on his hair. He didn't want to pull more out. He took the sedative needle out of Bucky's neck, slipped it back into his pocket, and carefully picked Bucky up. Even though he smelled like alpha, he was still _Steve's_ , and Steve was going to be as careful with him as he could be.

Sam didn't make a fuss about Steve putting Bucky in the back of his car, even though Bucky was filthy and it would probably take Sam days to get the smell out. Steve made a note to pay for a high end cleaning detail for his friend, because Sam shouldn't have to scrub alpha rut out of his own car. Tony had sent them a chopper, and Sam drove them to the pick up point, making small talk and keeping Steve as level headed as possible. He was amazing, and Steve couldn't help wishing once again that Sam wasn't quite so straight. But he'd gotten Bucky back, and Bucky needed him, and he didn't have time for a relationship anyway, so perhaps it was for the best.

“I've got to finish some things up at the VA and make sure all my classes are covered, but I'll be in New York in a day or two, and if you need me before then, you call, alright?”

“I will Sam, thank you.”

“No problem man. You go take care of your friend. And Steve – I really hope it works out the way you want it to.”

Steve gave Sam a quick hug; more a slap on the back than anything, and then hauled Bucky up and across his shoulders. Bucky was _heavy,_ even with all the weight he'd lost, and Steve wondered how heavy the arm was, and how Bucky managed it. Stark would no doubt tell him all about it once he got the chance to examine the arm. Steve – wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

Tony wasn't on the chopper, so Steve stayed in the back with Bucky, hoping that the sedative wouldn't wear off before they got there. It was about a forty minute trip, take off to landing, and the chopper set down on top of the Avengers tower. Bucky was starting to show signs of stirring; he was twitching slightly in his sedative induced sleep, and Steve anticipated they had maybe ten minutes to get him some place secure before he was awake and angry.

Fortunately, Tony was waiting right outside the chopper, and Steve lifted Bucky again, freezing for a moment when Bucky moaned a little, but he didn't wake. “I hope you've got something set up Tony, because he's about to wake up.”

Tony's eyes widened a little, and he said, “Yep, yes, right this way Cap, we're all set up.”

Steve followed him inside, where they took an elevator down to a deserted floor. They'd cleared everyone out, because there were labs and equipment set up, but no one was using them. In the middle of the floor was a clear room, with a table on it that had straps and other monitoring equipment set up next to it. Bruce was there, adjusting things, and Steve turned to Stark and said,

“You said you were hiring an expert.”

“Bruce _is_ an expert. Look, get your guy in there and strapped down before he tries to kill us, and I'll let Bruce explain while we do some preliminary scans.”

Steve was still suspicious, but there wasn't really anything he could do except trust them, so he put Bucky down on the table, feeling a jolt of guilt as he did so. Bucky had been strapped to too many tables. Once this was over, once they figured out what had been done to him and fixed it, Steve was going to make damn sure that Bucky didn't get strapped to one ever again. He owed his friend that much.

They got him strapped in just in time, because Bucky shook off the sedative, and actually _snarled_ at them when he came awake. He thrashed in his bonds, and for a moment Steve was genuinely worried they wouldn't hold him. The whole thing was probably built to hold the Hulk, so really, he shouldn't have worried, but he did anyway. Bruce looked a little rattled watching Bucky thrash and snarl and curse them out in Russian, German, and Romanian, with a little slurred English thrown in from time to time, but that was okay because Steve was feeling pretty damn rattled himself. The air was filled with the pheromones of angry alpha, so much worse now that Bucky was awake and pissed.

Tony was the one who hauled them both out of there, and ordered JARVIS to lock down the containment chamber. “Get the readings up for Dr. Banner please JARVIS, and begin preliminary scans of the arm. I want to know what we're dealing with, here.”

“Of course, sir.”

Steve felt useless as he stood back and watched Bruce and Tony work. Holographic diagrams full of numbers and calculations he didn't understand flashed above them, and the ones he did understand just made him nauseous. Bucky's alphogyn levels were through the roof, Steve knew that much, since he'd had his own levels tested and retested after the serum jump started his alpha side. But Bucky's omegeren levels were _also_ high, which meant that he must actually be in heat and in rut at the same time. No wonder he looked like he was out of his mind on hormones, because he probably was. It was hard enough to function while he was in rut; Steve couldn't imagine being in heat at the same time.

“So Bruce – Tony said you're the leading expert on presentation?”

Bruce gave him a strange look, “Yes. That was the research I was doing before – well, before my accident.”

“Why did presentation research lead you to the serum?” Steve was honestly confused. He thought Bruce had been working on creating super soldier serum.

“It's not a well published fact, but people with access to the original records of your service have uncovered that you were an omega before the serum, and and alpha after the serum. You were the first successful presentation change ever. All serious research into presentation change since the forties has been based on the serum.”

Seriously? They had actually kept those records that listed him as an omega pre-serum? Steve was sure they would have had those changed, for propaganda reasons. It hadn't been a secret to Erskine that he was an alpha. Steve honestly wasn't sure that they would have accepted him for the program if he wasn't, even with how progressive the SSR was by comparison. He felt guilty, because if they hadn't done that, then Bruce wouldn't have been researching it, and then the Hulk wouldn't have ever been created. Of course, the whole thing with Loki would have gone quite a bit differently if they hadn't had the Hulk there to help them, so Steve wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it. That seemed to be his general state of being in the future.

“I wasn't actually ever an omega,” Steve admitted.

That stopped both Tony and Bruce in their tracks, and they turned around to look at him. “Explain that, Cap.”

“I mean – Bucky was the omega, and I was the alpha. But no one expected me to be an alpha, because of how tiny I was, and I couldn't do any of the alpha dependent jobs anyway, but Bucky had a good job down at the docks. When he presented omega, we decided to switch. It was pretty easy, Bucky just stayed home during “my” heats, and I was on suppressants anyways, so it was easy to carry his scent everywhere.”

Tony's mouth just worked open and shut, like a rather uninspiring fish. “But. But. How the hell did Barnes join the army then?”

Steve pressed his lips together. “It's not really my story to tell but. It's probably relevant to Bucky's current situation so. He tried out the three year suppressants.”

Bruce looked horrified. “They proved that those suppressants didn't work at all; they sterilized ninety percent of the patients.”

“And Bucky was one of them. He got really sick; he had to have surgery. He stopped having heats, the doctor said he was sterile. They let him into the army on the doctor's recommendation.”

“So your presentation never changed.”

“No. But Bucky's has. He got captured; Zola experimented on him. And then after that he had his heat again and -.”

Steve closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk about this. It was private. It was possibly the most private thing he and Bucky had between them. But if Bruce was going to figure out what Zola had done to him, he'd know Bucky had conceived anyways, probably. Steve couldn't risk anything that could keep Bucky from getting better.

“Bucky went into his heat, and I went into my rut and he got. He got pregnant.”

Steve was honestly expecting a shitty comment from Tony at that point about premarital sex or something, but the pain on his face must have shown because Tony didn't say anything. Instead, he was standing there with that awkward look on his face that he got when he was trying to be sympathetic but didn't know how to share his feelings.

“He lost the baby about six months in. I uh. I haven't actually told anyone that before. A lot of the guys knew but. I've never actually told anyone.”

“I'm sorry, Steve.” Bruce said, and he sounded sincere.

Steve didn't know what to say, again, so he just bit his lip and nodded. “So, I'm not the first case of presentation change. But Bucky is. Or – or something. Because he wasn't an alpha before, and he definitely is now. Do you know what's wrong with him Bruce? It looks like he's in rut.”

Bruce cleared his throat and kind of shook himself a little and started talking professionally like Steve hadn't just had a major breakdown. “Uh, yeah, his hormones are in overdrive. Even accounting for whatever changes they might have made to change his presentation, his levels shouldn't be this high. His levels of omegeren are drastically elevated too, which means that they didn't change his presentation so much as add to it. And something is pumping hormones into him. I'd wager probably a hormone chip of some kind, or possibly something in the arm that was regulating his hormone levels that is now broken.”

That made Steve feel guilty again, because he was the one who damaged Bucky's arm so badly. But he was distracted from that by Tony saying, “Bruce, take a look at these scans. Does that look like a hormone implant chip to you?”

Bruce leaned over and pulled out his glasses, peering at the scan closely. “Yep. They're extremely experimental, but yeah, that looks enough like some of the prototype's I've seen. We'll need to remove it as soon as possible. In fact, I'd like to remove it now, if you'll allow me to sedate him again?”

Steve didn't like doing any of this without Bucky's consent. But since Bucky wasn't in a state capable of _giving_ consent at this point, Steve nodded.

“I think 2 cc's of the stuff you usually give me should be sufficient, Tony.”

“JARVIS?”

“Right away, sir.”

Steve could only stare as the equipment in the lab moved by itself, and a syringe with a small amount of blue liquid was pressed into Bucky's neck. Bucky thrashed for a few more seconds, and then his eyes closed and he was still, except for his breathing. Steve really hated hospitals, their equipment, anything that even reminded him of a hospital. It just – the whole situation was just not good.

“Alright JARVIS, we're going to run some more in depth scans while Cap's friend here is asleep. If you think you can keep it together Cap, going in there and holding his arm out would be a big help.”

“I can handle it.”

He followed Bruce into the room, and was immediately swamped with pheromones. It was even worse now that Bucky was in distress, and it hammered against Steve's alpha instincts. Bruce seemed unaffected, carefully laying out tools and pulling on gloves and a face mask. Steve went to Bucky's side and unstrapped the metal arm, holding it out as Tony instructed to get scans while Bruce cut into Bucky's leg to get the chip out.

The smell of blood filled the air, and Steve had to breathe through his mouth in order to not completely lose it. His instincts were screaming at him; Bucky was _hurt_. Steve needed to _do something about it_. Except he was doing something about it. He was doing what he could, which was letting other people do what they knew about and trust that someone like Bruce wouldn't keep Bucky locked up one moment longer than he needed to. Bruce knew how that felt.

Steve was hoping that Bucky would make a rapid improvement once the hormone chip was out of his leg. That didn't seem to be the case at all. Though Bruce was quick and efficient, cleaning the wound and stitching it back up with neat sutures, Bucky's color and scent didn't clear up.

Bruce seemed to know what he was thinking, and said, “it won't fix everything immediately, Steve. It'll take time to flush the extra hormones out of his system. Though he may do so at an accelerated rate, if he actually does have the serum like we suppose.”

“You think Bucky has the serum?” Steve had thought about it, but he had no way to be sure. They'd done _something_ to him in Zola's lab, that was for sure.

“It's a real possibility. I'll have to analyze his blood against yours or mine, but if he survived the fall, and survived whatever procedures they did to make him both the Winter Soldier and to switch his presentation...you're talking at least an advanced healing factor for those things. Plus I've seen the footage of your fight; he seems to be able to match you in strength, speed and endurance. It seems like a very real possibility to me.”

“Take a look at these scans, Bruce. I think the arm is giving him some hormone injections as well,” Tony said, interrupting them.

Bruce went over and took a look, and the conversation quickly dissolved into medical and scientific jargon that Steve just couldn't follow. Bruce must have seen him standing there awkwardly, because he said,

“Sorry Steve, but this is probably going to take a while. Why don't you get some sleep and we'll wake you if anything changes?”

Steve shook his head. He wasn't leaving. He just couldn't. Not now, not when he finally had Bucky back. Tony looked exasperated. “Well then, why don't you at least take a seat, Capsicle? The pacing is making me a little nervous.”

Steve hadn't even known he _was_ pacing. He grimaced, and pulled up a chair as close to the plexiglass enclosure as he could. He just sat there and watched Bucky breathe, determined to stick out this vigil with him, like Bucky had done so many times for him. When he'd had scarlet fever, or when he'd had rheumatic fever, or any of his various bouts with pneumonia when the doctors were convinced nothing could be done and he wouldn't make it until morning, Bucky had never left his side. Steve didn't really remember much of those times, he'd been delirious with fever and sickness, but Bucky had told him later, and Steve's mom had told him as well, how dedicated Bucky was. She seemed almost worried by it, and Steve hadn't known why then, but now he suspected his mother had known about his attraction to Bucky all along, and had worried about what would happen to them if they'd ever acknowledged it publicly.

That wasn't the case now; things were different. And even if it was hard for himself to get in to the mindset that it was _okay_ now to have those feelings, it was still a relief. And at the same time, it was terror and pain, because Bucky might never feel that way about him ever again, and they might never get back to the place they were in before, when their relationship was full of shame that would now no longer be the case.

So he sat there and watched Bucky breathe, and hoped. He prayed. Even in this age of science and disbelief, Steve still went to church, still prayed. Admittedly, he didn't do it as much as he probably should, and he found himself in confession more often then he wished, but he still had faith. Bucky wasn't religious, never had been, but he'd prayed just as hard as Steve had during the war. What was there to do in a war as horrible as theirs had been _except_ pray? And there was nothing else he could do now except pray, either. So he sat there and wished he'd had his rosary, so at least he could have counted his prayers and maintained his vigil.

“God _damn it,_ I hate HYDRA!” Tony exclaimed, startling Steve out of the half doze he was in. He bolted up out of his chair before he realized they weren't actually under attack.

“What's wrong?”

“This!! This is all wrong!” Tony waved angry hands at the hologram above him.

“...you're gonna have to spell it out for me, Tony.”

“This fucking arm, that's what the problem is! This technology is advanced; _too_ advanced. I'm not anywhere near making an arm like this, and let me tell you, I know robot arms, okay? But this thing, it's got layers and layers of tech; new on top of old, and even the oldest tech is insanely advanced.”

“HYDRA had access to the Tesseract; they had advanced tech back in the forties. Zola was still working for HYDRA even after his death; it makes sense he'd keep perfecting his designs.”

“That's the thing though; there's nothing perfect about this. Sure, the machinery is fine, as long as you don't think about it being attached to something that can, you know, feel pain. The arm is _heavy_. You can see here where they had to reinforce his skeleton on that side with metal to help hold the weight. But there's nothing there that's protecting the muscle and tendon from the metal – it has to be painful. This seam here, the metal actually looks like they just fused it into his fucking skin. _Fused_. Then there's the fact that the neural interface they have for the damn thing is wired straight into his brain. It's got to be causing all sorts of unpleasant neural feedback, but we'll need a neurologist to consult for that.”

“So he's in a lot of pain.”

“He must be in pain every moment he's awake. And I haven't even done scans of the rest of his body yet. But the state of Bruce's eyebrows tells me I'm not gonna like what he's found.”

“It's not good. The human body isn't meant to be flash frozen and thawed over and over again, but that's exactly what their files says they've done. The serum has helped him cope with the process, but he has a lot of internal scar tissue. It's amazing that he hasn't developed cancer with the rate of cell death and regrowth he's got going on here. They must have been feeding him mostly intravenously, because there's no way his digestive system is up to processing solid foods right now.”

“And that's not the fun part,” Tony cut in, “it looks like that hormone chip wasn't the only thing affecting his system. The arm has internal vials. Looks like a concentrated hormone dosage, from what I'm getting here. We've got to get those out of him. And these, here. Looks like there's all sorts of nasty things in his arm. Though he did manage to disable the tracking bugs somehow. Hard to believe that that pinpointed damage to the arm was accidental.”

Steve didn't even know how to begin to process any of that. “So...what do we do about it?”

Bruce and Tony shared a look, but Bruce was the one who started talking, which meant that Steve wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. “Look, Steve, we need to operate on the arm.”

“No.”

“Steve, I'm not asking,” Tony started.

“Tony, I'm not going to let you root around in his arm without his consent!”

“Steve,” Bruce said gently, “I understand. Believe me, I understand _completely_. But if we don't get him hooked onto some nutrition, and get those hormones regulated, he could die. His system is under a lot of stress. We'll only take care of what we absolutely have to in order for him to be safe, and any further experimentation on his arm can wait until he's aware and consenting.”

Tony looked like he was going to protest to that last part, but Bruce gave him a firm look. Tony sighed. “Yeah, okay. Only take out what we have to. I promise.”

Steve clenched his fists and desperately wished he could punch something. “If there isn't any other way.”

“We'll be as non-invasive as possible.”

“I don't suppose there's any chance you'll go get some sleep?” Tony asked, clearly wanting some space to work.

“If you're not going to sleep, I'm not sleeping.” Steve replied tightly. He wasn't leaving.

“Fine. JARVIS, can you please send someone up with coffee and food? It's going to be a long night.”

“Right away sir.”

Steve forced himself to sit and not pace, and dug himself in for a night's vigil.

xxx

The procedure took twelve hours, but when they'd finished, Bucky looked – better. His color was better, and even though he was on oxygen and being supplied intravenously with nutrients and painkillers, the meds were clearly doing their job. Bucky was still deeply under, as Bruce was adamant that they keep him sedated for a few days until his system stabilized, and that waking him before that time would cause more harm than good.

Tony seemed to take it as granted that Steve wouldn't be leaving, and had a cot brought up for him, while he and Bruce went back to their floors to sleep. Steve was reminded that JARVIS would be keeping an eye out, and to just ask if he needed anything. Likewise, Tony would be woken at the first sign of anything wrong, but with the amount of sedatives Bucky was on, they weren't expecting him to wake for some time.

They didn't end up removing all of the hormones, though they did remove the high concentration vials. Bruce insisted they replace the vials with a diluted solution because he was concerned about stopping the hormone flow completely. He compared it to a person undergoing hormone replacement therapy to change their gender; they weren't entirely sure how Bucky's double presentation worked, but Bruce was more than wary of stopping the hormone regulation completely. Besides that, they removed several rounds of explosives, one vial of acid that seemed like if activated it would melt right through the entire arm, and one capsule of cyanide, clearly intended to work like a stronger version of the old operative's hollow teeth. Not that Bucky would have been the one to decide if he used it or not. There were also two hidden cameras, and a variety of bugs and tracking devices which Tony said had already been deactivated. Apparently Bucky had taken care of those before he lost his mind to his rut.

Steve spent the next few days sleeping, eating, or praying. Bruce was the one who brought him a rosary, and Steve accepted it gratefully. It was old, the path across the beads well worn, and Steve wondered who it had belonged to. Bruce didn't go to church, though he'd smiled when Steve had invited him. He'd been all over the world, and had found acceptance where he could, finding that the eastern religions were more accepting of him than the western. They sat and talked about religion, and Bruce seemed to think Steve would disapprove, but Steve thought that a person should take solace where they could.

He listened intently while Bruce explained about meditation, and the origin of the practices of Zen Buddhism, and Steve found it all fascinating. The world was so much larger than it had been when he was born, so many new ideas and practices. Steve loved people, loved everything about them, and wanted to learn as much as he could. When he'd first come out of the ice, he'd gone for a road trip across America, but the world was so much larger than that. Most of what he saw of it was while he was jumping out of planes or sneaking across borders. Some day - he didn't know when, but in some nebulous future where Bucky was better - Steve wanted to travel and see the world that his team mates had experienced.

Tony came up with half a dozen re-designs to Bucky's arm in that time. He was more than put out that Steve wouldn't let him enact on any of them, but Steve was intrigued by the detail that Tony had put into each of them. Apparently Bucky's arm was currently plated with adamantium which gave it the strength that he'd seen to punch through solid concrete as well as match blows with Steve's shield, but it was _heavy_. Tony wanted to remove the adamantium plating and replace it with vibranium, which was comparatively lighter.

The skeleton of the arm itself had been replaced with adamantium bones and shock-absorbent fluid filled joints, which Tony said he couldn't do much about. The entire arm's function depended on the strength of the adamantium fused onto Bucky's bones to support the weight and structure of the arm itself, and the adamantium bone in the center kept the arm from crushing itself with it's own force. Tony was confident, however, that he could build in a much better cooling system for the arm, as well as a more stable power source. Right now it looked like the arm was powered partly using Tesseract technology, and Tony had doubts that it was helping Bucky's mental state.

Still, what he was proposing would amount to major surgery. Steve was a little surprised that none of the designs suggested changing the anchoring system, or fixing the part where the metal had been fused into flesh. Tony didn't seem to be the type to take something like 'the arm doesn't come off' as anything other than a challenge.

Tony attempted to explain it to him. “Look, Steve, you've met Wolverine, right?”

“Yeah.” Foul mouthed, lethal, Canadian. Had a metal skeleton.

“Taking your friend's arm off would be like trying to peel the metal off Wolverine's skeleton. It's not going to happen. And Wolverine has a much better healing factor than you or your guy do.”

Well, when he put it like that. There _was_ apparently a socket that could be removed; the entire arm came off at the shoulder so it could be maintained or repaired, and even replaced, in theory, though Tony said it didn't look like they'd ever replaced it, just layered new technology in as the old broke down. But the anchoring system was something they just couldn't alter, not without major invasive surgery and risk of serious complications. And that wasn't something Steve was willing to risk, whether Bucky was awake or not.

Finally, Bruce seemed pleased with how Bucky's hormone, blood pressure and glucose levels had stabilized. He wanted to move Bucky to a more secure, prepared room and take him off the intravenous fluids when the sedatives were removed. Again, Steve was uncomfortable with this at first, but Bruce talked him around.

“We don't know what his mental state is going to be like when we bring him around. He might try to hurt himself or others. And we need somewhere secure to hold him while he sees psychiatrists or deprogrammers. This isn't the end of the battle Steve, it's only the beginning.”

Steve felt particularly defeated at that.

“Look, I promise you – we won't keep him locked up any longer than absolutely necessary. We're not going to have him arrested, or let anyone seek criminal recompense against him. There isn't anyone to do that anyway, now that SHIELD has been disbanded. As long as he stays in the Tower, no one is going to arrest him, Steve. And Tony's working on removing all physical and digital evidence of his record, so that once he's better he can leave the Tower without getting arrested at all. He's done the same thing for me.”

“If this is what you recommend,” Steve said heavily.

“It's what he needs, Steve. A chance to get better.”

“Alright.”

“Hey, Capsicle, visitor here to see you.”

Sam walked in, assessed the situation, and came right up to Steve and offered him a hug, which Steve took gratefully. Sam let him embrace him for a long moment, and then said, “Steve, what did I tell you about taking a shower? You stink.”

Steve laughed, even if it was a small, self-depreciating laugh. “I'll take one soon, I promise.”

Tony made shooing motions. “Go, take care of yourself. We'll get him moved and wait for you to be all dolled up before we wake up your sleeping beauty.”

Steve didn't want to leave, but Sam forced him, gently, of course. “It's not going to do your friend any good if you see him for the first time looking like you do.”

And Sam was right, he did look particularly terrible. He had days worth of stubble and he stank, and he'd been in the same clothes for days. So he took the time to eat and shower and shave, even if all he wanted to do was rush to Bucky's side again. Tony took great pleasure in pointing out that Steve had an entire floor dedicated to him, all it needed was a few decisions on his part and they could have it fully furnished. Steve didn't have the heart to tell him that the 'standard stock furniture' Tony had filled it with was more than Steve had ever had.

Still, the shower was amazing, and the water pressure was perfect, not that he expected anything else from Tony. He scrubbed off sweat and pheromones and toweled dry before applying a scent blocker that Sam had not-so-subtly bought him. Then he shaved, with a straight razor, because it was the only kind he knew how to use. The Steve that stared back at him in the mirror was worn and haggard, and Steve hoped it would be good enough.

Apparently when Tony had outfitted the place, he'd picked out clothes for Steve, too. It was a little bit creepy, but since he was now here with nothing to wear, he was grateful. He ended up in jeans that were a bit too tight, in his opinion, and an Iron Man t-shirt, because it was either that or shirts that were printed to look like the American flag. Tony's idea of a joke, but not something Steve particularly wanted to see right now.

Sam had cooked him pancakes. “Hope you're hungry, because I made a lot.”

“This looks good Sam, thanks.”

He took three, and then at Sam's raised eyebrow, took four more. Sam had been friends with him long enough to know how much he needed to eat. Steve would be lying if he said he'd been eating as much as he really needed to, these last few days. It had just seemed so much more important to stay with Bucky.

He inhaled his food, because it was good, but also because he'd been away from Bucky for two hours already, and he wanted to get back. Sam looked concerned, and said, “You know Steve, it's alright if you take some time for yourself.”

“I need to be there, Sam. They're waking him up today.”

“You gonna be there every second of his recovery, too?”

Steve avoided Sam's gaze, because that had been exactly what he'd been planning.

“You can't just drop your whole life for this.”

“Bucky _is_ my life,” he replied evenly.

Sam raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, then got up and started putting dishes in the dishwasher. “All I'm sayin' is, would your friend really want you to stop doing everything except sitting beside him watching him sleep?”

Definitely not. Bucky would kick his ass.

Steve helped clean up, and only when everything was washed, dried, and put away did Sam follow Steve back down to the floor they were keeping Bucky on. True to their word, Bruce and Tony had gotten him set up in another room. This one had three cement walls and one of glass, presumably originally intended to be Hulk proof. The room was relatively large, again, to fit the Hulk, and had a bed against one wall, which was really nothing more than a mattress on the floor. Steve could see outlines in the walls where potentially other furniture might swing out of, but for now the room was bare, white, and sterile. At least there weren't any bars, and Bucky could look out the glass side, if he wanted, but also keep his back to the concrete. Steve didn't know if this was what was best for Bucky, but in any case, it was the best they could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments really keep me going !! :D


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!!
> 
> This chapter focuses heavily on Bucky, and on Buckky's awareness as the asset, and how Bucky slowly comes out of brainwashing. I went a different route in this than many fics, because there are some really great deconstruction fics out there (many of which I have bookmarked) and I don't feel I need to try to compete with those fics here.
> 
> Warnings for lots of referenced non-con regarding how the asset remembers its time at Hydra. You'll notice a deliberate use of pronouns here, as Bucky shifts from considering itself a weapon to a person. We'll start addressing much of Bucky's transition next chapter.
> 
> Lastly, there's a rather large section of this chapter that contains an original transgender/non-binary character. I usually use Acelain in my fics to fill a sorely lacking trans mutant role. I feel they are better suited to this than trying to re-purpose many of the known telepaths, though I suppose it'd be amusing to see someone like Quentin Quire interacting with the Avengers.
> 
> Acelain is very dear to me, and if you've been reading my fics as I go along, you might notice that they're rather indicative of my own personal transgender journey. You're not required to like Ace, but be kind, please.
> 
> Also note, Ace's telepathic communication is bolded, Bucky's responses are bold italic.
> 
> Without further ado, your chapter awaits!

The asset came to awareness slowly. This was not like the other times, when it had been brought slowly back to life after the frozen, after the cold, after the dark. It was neither cold, nor dark. Instead, the room it was being kept in was a moderate temperature, approximately twenty degrees Celsius, according to the feedback from its arm. The room was bright, the asset could tell even with its eyes closed. It didn't feel ill, the way it always did when it came out of stasis. It didn't feel good; it didn't even have a definition for _good_ , but it wasn't injured, it wasn't in pain, it didn't feel nausea.

Where was it?

The asset opened its eyes. It didn't move, merely looked around carefully without moving, glancing around its full range of sight at the strange room it was being held in. It had never been kept in a room like this, with soft white paint on the walls (though that did nothing to hide the fact that the walls were concrete) and temperate lights filtering down from the ceiling without an obvious light source. It was on a mattress, which wasn't uncomfortable – there were no springs digging into its back, it wasn't sore from having lain on the mattress.

It felt – strange. The asset wasn't allowed to feel, wasn't supposed to feel, but it did. The asset tensed for a moment, with the echo of remembered pain; bad things happened when the asset felt. But it did feel, and nothing bad was happening, and it didn't hurt. In fact – it felt very clear headed. Normally it had to fight for awareness through a fog of anger. Recently – was it recently? Events seemed to blur together in its memory – it wasn't supposed to have a memory, but it did, it had sense memories, vague impressions of _before_. _Before,_ the asset had felt a burning in its veins, in its abdomen below its belly, felt an ache in its genitals that it didn't understand or speak about. But the feeling was there – it was always there, _before_. But now that feeling was gone.

The asset took stock of the rest of its awareness. Its body felt lighter, weaker. The join between its arm and its flesh ached, but the asset couldn't tell if it ached more than _before_ , or if it could just feel the ache more because the rest of its body didn't ache. The arm itself felt heavier, dead. The asset twitched its finger, and didn't feel the resonant echo of the arm responding to its commands. And yet the arm was still attached, the asset could see it. The asset could feel the temperature of the room through its sensors, could feel the pressure of the arm pushing against the mattress. But the asset couldn't move its arm.

This called for a test of the asset's other parts, and it discretely moved them; wiggling a toe or finger on each of its extremities, lightly moving its other arm and legs to see if it was strapped down. It worked its jaw subtly to see if it was in the muzzle. It was not. Nor did it seem to be bound, besides the arm being non-functional. And there were memories of _before_ , where it had been fighting, and the arm had been damaged. So perhaps its arm was not bound either, but simply malfunctioning. In any case, nothing further could be discerned from its current position.

The asset swung itself up to a sitting position in one swift movement. It was pleased that this motion did not cause it any kind of vertigo or nausea. It was less pleased that its balance was thrown off both by how much lighter it felt – apparently it had lost a good deal of weight – and the immobilization of the arm. It was actively displeased to see that the front of its cell was made of a clear substance, possibly bulletproof glass though it would be sure to test the wall's strength, and the fact that on the other side of that glass was its target. The target looked concerned, if the asset could trust any expression on the target's face (it couldn't). The target also appeared to be speaking to it, but it remembered how the target's words had persuaded it not to finish its job properly last time. It would not make this mistake again. It wasn't listening.

Instead, it stood and bull rushed the observation window. The arm wasn't working, but seemed structurally intact, and so it barreled into the wall shoulder first, letting the arm take most of the impact. It snarled as it did so, though it was surprised not to be flooded with the rage such an action usually caused within it. The impact made a loud sound as the windows' substance met the adamantium of its arm, but the wall did not shatter. It gave with the movement, before snapping back into place. It did not seem that an application of force was going to get it out of this cage. To that end, it rushed one of the other walls instead, to test the thickness of the concrete. The target was yelling now, but the asset did not listen. The wall cracked slightly under the asset's full assault, but it was clear that unless the asset was allowed to bash the wall until even its strength ran out, there was little to no chance that it would be able to break thorough the thickness of the wall. And, if its captor was intelligent, as its captor seemed to be, there would be more force resisting walls behind the concrete.

For now, it would have to stay in this cage, and figure out what its captors wanted. If its captors thought they would tame it, would make it their weapon, then they would find out that the asset did not blindly submit to anyone. It had a sharp recollection of _before_ , of pain and fear, but it brushed that aside. It had left its old masters. It didn't recall what had happened to it since then, but it knew it had left. It had _feelings_ and _thoughts_ and those feelings and thoughts revolved around not belonging to anyone any longer. It was a possession, a tool, but it would belong to itself, or not exist at all.

This was what the asset knew.

xxx

They were trying to wear the asset down. It paced back and forth, getting as much exercise as it could within the confines of its cage. It didn't remember what had happened to it since it had rescued its target instead of killing him, but the lack of memory didn't bother the asset. Many things were unknown, memory was slippery – unreliable. Better to focus on surroundings, on senses, on instinct. It needed to rebuild lost muscle. It needed to learn about its captors. Until it understood what the captors wanted, it couldn't decide whether to attack or pretend to obey.

_No masters, never again. Die first._ The thoughts floated through the asset's brain unbidden. The asset snarled. Such thoughts were – there was _pain_ associated with those thoughts. Bright, searing pain that cut through all the fog of empty memory in the asset's brain. It wanted to curl up on the floor and weep for that remembered pain, except it knew that action would only be punished with further pain. It had been so long since it had rebelled, until the man on the bridge. Until the target who wouldn't be killed. The asset didn't like it. These thoughts made it uneasy, uncomfortable. It didn't know what they meant, how they would affect it.

The captors brought it food. The asset was unsure of what it was supposed to do with the food, at first. It didn't usually eat; its masters fed it through a tube, before they checked it over for injuries and repaired it, got it ready for – for the cold. The asset shied away from that half memory. It didn't like thinking about the cold. That led to thoughts of _before_ , led to emotions and feelings and half-remembered memories that made it tremble under their force, made it wonder if maybe once, the asset had been a person.

But that was stupid. The asset knew it wasn't a person. It was a tool; a weapon, taken out of the _cold_ and used and then broken down and put back in. Nothing was accepted except perfect compliance, utter obedience. The asset couldn't remember if it had once been something else, but it must have been, hadn't it? Or they wouldn't have tried so hard to keep it from being that – whatever that was, from _before_. The asset didn't know. The asset didn't like thinking about it.

The food was still there. It hadn't been taken away while the asset was pacing and remembering, and trying to put its thoughts in order. The asset couldn't have said how long it was inside its own head, but there the food was, in the same spot it had been when it had been first delivered, through a slot in the wall that had sealed itself back together as if it had never been.

The asset crept forward warily. There were usually people watching it, but for once, the space in front of its cage was empty. The asset didn't think that this meant they weren't watching – it had learned there were always eyes, someone was always watching. But. Perhaps it would be safe, to take a little food. The asset could tell when it was hungry (the answer was usually _always,)_ it had just been trained to ignore the hunger, to function around it. But there was no reason to deny itself nutrition now. It needed to build its strength back up.

There was the possibility that the food was drugged, of course. But then, if the captors had managed to capture the asset and place it in this cage, they wouldn't need to drug its food to drug it. They could release something into the air, or have syringes come out of the walls in the same way the food had. They must have ways to subdue it, as well, or its arm would be working. So there was a chance the food itself was clean.

The asset reached out and grabbed a piece of toast – long since cooled – off the plate and retreated to a corner of the room, where it could see the bare hallway beyond its cage. It ate slowly, analyzing the taste and texture to see if there was anything it didn't recognize. It looked for trace amounts of poison, for any drug that it recognized. There were none.

That didn't mean the food _wasn't_ drugged, merely that it didn't contain anything the asset had come across before. But its analysis was interrupted by the stray thought that _this bread is really fucking good. We never could have afforded this._ The asset stopped chewing and looked around warily. Where was that coming from? It couldn't afford to be distracted at this point. It needed to maintain its awareness until the captors revealed something about it.

Though, its body _was_ getting tired. Even with its endurance its body had to sleep at some point. Usually it slept in storage, but sometimes it slept when the mission ran long, longer than a few days. And the asset couldn't remember exactly how long it had been since it had been in the _cold_ but it felt long, longer than ever. And it was tired. So utterly tired. And it did need to build muscle and recover, and it couldn't do that if its body wasn't resting, since it didn't look like there were any technicians who were planning on coming to fix it any time soon.

So it ate the rest of the toast, stealing one slice at a time, and drank the water, because it remembered about things such as dehydration, which was useful in the interrogation of enemies, but if one let the enemies get too dehydrated, then they would become delirious, and their information worthless. The asset didn't want its information to become worthless. Drinking would mean that it would have to give in to bodily functions and use the toilet installed in the opposite corner of the cell from the asset. The asset couldn't decide how it felt about that. It didn't like people watching. But people were always watching, so that thought didn't make sense.

Nothing made sense any more.

xxx

This was not going at all how Steve hoped it would. Bucky was angry and feral, wouldn't speak, and had tried to break down the walls before turning to pace back and forth across the small enclosed space. His gait was off, probably due to his arm being on lock down, and Steve watched him stalk back and forth with despair. Bucky looked like a wild thing instead of a person. He'd really hoped that regulating Bucky's pheromones would fix his feral behavior. He knew things weren't going to be perfect right away, but he'd hoped for _something_. Some kind of progress or sign that his Bucky had been still in there. Bucky had recognized him before, Steve knew he had. And on the helicarrier, he'd saved Steve's life, instead of killing him.

“Look Steve, you have to face the truth – he's not getting any better.”

Steve wanted to argue, but it was true. Bucky would look up at them if they came by the cage, but he never spoke back, and most of the time it seemed like he wasn't even listening to them. Steve didn't know if that meant he didn't understand, or if the only thing that had survived the wiping process was Bucky's stubbornness, and he was just trying to ignore them until they went away. It was a very Bucky thing to do.

But beyond that, there didn't seem to be much left of his Bucky inside the Winter Soldier. Bucky seemed more animal than anything. He still paced. He'd eat, but only one piece of food at a time, backed into the furthest corner he could, wide eyes sweeping back and forth as he scarfed down his food. Wary of internal damage, they had restricted Bucky's food intake at first, following guidelines for introducing famine victims back to a normal food intake. Bucky had only gotten sick once, so Steve counted that as a win. It was about the only thing he _could_ do.

“What do you think we should do then, Sam? And don't say put him down, because he's not a dog, and I'm not going to.”

Sam gave Steve a withering look. “I wouldn't say something like that Cap, where did you even get that idea?”

“Something Tony said,” he muttered. He appreciated everything Tony had done for them. He really did. But the man had a tendency to say the most inappropriate things at the worst times, and Steve had almost put his fist through Stark's head yesterday.

“Look man, I've been talking to everyone, and they think we need to bring in outside help.”

“I don't think a shrink is going to help him, Sam.”

“I was thinking more...a telepath, maybe?”

Now it was Steve's turn to be surprised. “You've got mutant contacts?”

“Pepper does. I swear that woman knows everyone. She said that they were really helpful when she was dealing with the Extremis stuff; turns out the kinds of techniques mutants use to regulate their powers are really helpful for other kinds of super-powered people, apparently. She's got a friend who's willing to take a look at Bucky's case, but they're adamant we get Bucky's assent, if we can.”

Steve looked doubtfully at Bucky's cage. He wasn't prowling today, he was sitting on his mattress, staring out into space. He hadn't moved in hours. “I don't know if I can. But I'm willing to try. Tell Pepper to set up a time, and I can at least tell the telepath that I made every effort.”

“Alright man. And after that, you'll get some sleep, right?”

Steve sighed. “Yes Sam. After I try to explain telepaths to Bucky, I will go and get some sleep.”

“Just looking out for you.”

“I know. I appreciate it.”

xxx

The asset was lost in thought, not a very good place for it to be, when the target came up to the other side of the glass.

“Hey Bucky, how are you doing today?”

The asset looked up, startled. The target's voice was _so familiar_. “ _Bucky, you've known me your whole life.”_ **“** _ **Shut up!!”**_ The asset shook its head, trying to gain some stability, but there wasn't any, there was never any stability. Still, it didn't dismiss the target out of hand.

“I'm not gonna lie, Buck. You're not getting better. I'm worried about you.”

The asset watched emotions flicker across the target's face; analyzed them, assessed them. But it said nothing. It was a weapon. Weapons should serve their purpose, and not speak unless the mission demanded it, or unless spoken to. There was none of the rage in it now that had caused it to speak to the target before. It had been out of control, then, and it didn't like it. The asset had nothing if not control. The asset was nothing if it was not a weapon. So it sat, and watched, and didn't quite meet the target's eye, and waited.

“They want to bring a telepath in to help you. Do you know what a telepath is?” The target studied the asset's face, as if he was going to find answers there.

The asset – did not know what a telepath was. It didn't recall ever hearing of one, or working with one, whether this telepath was supposed to be a weapon or a tool. It had nothing to base the concept on.

“Right. Well, it's someone who has a mutant power. I suppose you don't know what mutants are, either?”

This, the asset did know. Or at least – knew  _ of _ . Mutants, individuals with a mutation in their genes that allowed them to develop various powers. Potential interferences to a mission, high level targets. Varying abilities, difficult to determine strategy in advance. What this had to do with the telepath, or with the asset, it didn't know.

“Okay. Well. A telepath is a mutant who can read thoughts, can go inside someone's mind.”

The asset's eyes widened. Was the target speaking of the chair? The asset didn't like the chair. It produced simultaneous feelings of fear and hate. The asset couldn't even think about the chair without shuddering. The chair was – the chair was  _ evil.  _ Did the target want to put it in the chair, wipe it, make it compliant? The asset didn't want to comply. It didn't want the  _ pain pain pain  _ that it shouldn't recall but did. 

But the target said mutant, which was a person, and the chair was not a person. It was operated by a person, though. Did the target mean a scientist? The asset didn't want to be fixed. It – it knew it was not functioning properly, but it didn't want to be fixed!

“Woah, woah, calm down. I don't know what you're thinking, but it's not that.”

How would the target know? Unless the target was a telepath! But then. Then the target wouldn't be talking to it, just taking. So. The asset calmed its breathing, and dared to move its eyes up to the target's eyes, even though it knew it was not supposed to look directly at anyone. Weapons did not get to look at people.

“Look, Buck, we want to help you. A telepath will help you remember. Remember your old life.” The target looked like he was pleading now. “Remember  _ me _ .” The target said, though the asset didn't think it was supposed to hear that part. The target had said it very quietly.

“Do you think you could at least – meet a telepath?”

The asset wondered why the target was asking. Was he implying that the asset had – a choice? The asset didn't get choices. It received instructions, and punishments. Never rewards – a weapon wasn't rewarded for functioning as expected. Never choices – the asset wasn't a person, how could it choose? But. The target seemed to think the asset could choose, and the target seemed to think this 'telepath' could help the asset remember him. That didn't sound like the chair. The chair never brought memory, only took it away. Prepared the asset for the  _ cold _ . Memory was something that belonged to  _ before _ . Did the asset want  _ before _ ? The asset didn't know. How could it know, when the knowing was  _ before? _

But this was something the target seemed to think the asset could have, and it has been so long since the asset had  _ had _ anything. The asset wanted it. How did the asset tell the target it wanted it? Such responses had been removed from its training a long time ago. But the asset had seen people interact. So perhaps if the asset pretended to be a person...

The asset nodded, slowly, and stiffly. There wasn't any pain, no punishment. Only the brilliant smile from the target, which stirred up uncomfortable feelings in the asset's insides. It brought heat to the asset's genitals – that confusing, stirring heat. The asset wasn't sure it liked that, but it faded as the target's smile faded.

“That's – that's really good Buck. I'll go let them know.”

The asset watched until the target was out of sight, and then it stared at the place where the target had been, as if that would help it understand.

xxx

Steve wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. In truth, he really hadn't expected anything. He was running off hope, at this point. Right now, as long as they could help Bucky, he'd take help from just about anyone.

Steve didn't really consider himself sheltered, the way the rest of the world seemed to assume that he was. They seemed to have forgotten that he grew up in New York City, a melting pot of immigrants from all over the globe. They'd somehow gotten this idea in their head that the modern century had invented premarital sex, alternate presentation pairings, and transgender or transpresentation people. Granted, life had been a great deal harder for those individuals than it was now, (not that it was _easy_ now,) but Steve had grown up in the heart of the gay district at the time. He'd seen the men dressed as women, the omegas layered with alpha scent, the alphas with omega scent, the betas with either or sometimes both.

Hell, he'd faked his own presentation for most of his life to protect Bucky. That wasn't really the same as someone doing it because they genuinely believed they'd been born in the wrong body, but he wasn't as  _ shocked _ by it as everyone seemed to think he should be. As if somehow patriotism and wanting to protect people automatically equated itself to bigotry, and that only the modern era had invented enlightened people, only those who were born past the sixties were capable of the radical idea of treating someone like a person regardless of what they looked like.

So he wasn't shocked when the person who walked into the Avenger's headquarters the very next day didn't fit into the carefully constructed molds of gender and presentation. This individual gave no outward sign of their gender; they seemed very carefully balanced between male and female – long, straight black hair, smooth face, very gender neutral clothes – a simple pair of jeans with a cut that could have belonged to a male or female, short, serviceable boots that also had a bit of a feminine turn to the toe. Minimal jewelery, mostly solid silver, some with bits of turquoise worked into it. Three-quarter sleeved shirt, no obvious breast line, but a slimness to the torso that suggested femininity. Almost exactly perfect shoulder to hip ratio, suggesting neither wide female hips nor masculine shoulders. A subtle perfume that blended the scents of all three presentations without being overpowering.

Pepper introduced them. “Steve, this is Acelain Zavala. Acelain, this is Captain Steve Rogers.”

Acelain gave a small smile. “I know,” but still held their hand out in greeting.

Steve apparently floored everyone by taking it and saying, “It's good to meet you. Please, call me Steve. Sorry if this is presumptuous but – what pronouns would you like me to use?”

Acelain's eyes sparkled. “That might be the most polite way anyone has ever asked me, Captain. Please. Call me Ace. And yes, I prefer 'they' pronouns, so just continue to think of me as you already were. You were projecting.”

Steve blushed.

“Pepper told me you acquired assent?”

“As much as Bucky's capable of giving it, yes. I'm – not sure he really understood me.”

“You made the effort; that's all I ask. I'll know more once I see him. Should we go?”

Steve was relieved that there wasn't going to be a lot of awkward socializing before they got to helping Bucky. “Yes, this way.”

xxx

The asset was doing one handed pushups to regain lost upper arm strength, when a person it did not recognize stepped in front of the glass.

“Can we have this glass opened? I don't like doing mind work with something in the way.”

“Um. That's not really a good idea -”

“Ah, there's the catch. Don't worry, I won't let him out.”

The asset sprung to its feet as the glass slid into the wall. It didn't try to escape immediately. This had to be some kind of trick, or trap. Why would its captors lower the glass otherwise?

But instead of a trap, or pain, or punishment, the new person plopped onto the ground in a swift, fluid moment, crossing their legs into a meditative position, and smiled at it. “Hello! I'm Acelain, the telepath Steve told you about earlier. James? Should I call you that? Or perhaps Bucky?”

The asset stared at the new person. The person didn't _look_ like a chair. Or a scientist. Or – anything the asset had seen for that matter. And the scent was - unexpected. The asset couldn't quite pin that down.

**I'm not a chair. No. Definitely not, if that's what you're thinking.**

The asset startled. There had been a – a voice, inside its mind. Not a voice. Thoughts. Emotions-senses-feelings.

**Yes, that's right. No one has really quantified it before.**

The asset didn't know whether to be afraid or confused or angry.

**None of those, I hope. So, you want to be called the asset?**

_**Not want. Am.**_ The asset thought back.

**You're very quick. So you are the asset. You don't have a name?**

_**Weapon. Name not needed.** _

**So how do you think of yourself?**

_**??** _

**Steve is Steve, also alpha, also 'he.' I am Acelain, also apresentation, also 'they.' You are asset, also alpha, also omega...also he?**

_**...Asset. Alpha. Asset must be alpha. Strong, right. Not understand 'they.' Can be 'they?' Not he, not she? They? But...person?** _

**Yes, I am they and also a person. Are you not a person?**

_**….am weapon. Am 'it.'** _

**Does that make you happy?**

_**Weapon not feelings. Weapon only – action. Then** _ **chair** _**then** _ **cold.**

**No more chair. No more cold. Not ever, ever again.** This was repeated out loud.

The asset found itself drawn to the captor – to Acelain's eyes. They had deep almond eyes, full of emotion. The asset couldn't look away. It found itself believing what Acelain said, in a way it hadn't experienced since _before_. There was going to be – no more chair. No more cold. No more pain?

**Probably some pain. But pain from healing, from getting better.**

_**Not punishment?** _

**No.**

The asset was overwhelmed. It couldn't take any more revelations today. It stood, not even trying to escape, and went to the mattress, and laid down, facing away from the floor, its head whirling with thoughts.

xxx

Acelain stood slowly after the asset had gone and curled back up onto its mattress. They pulled the glass back out of the wall with their telekinesis, making sure to latch it firmly. While they had made some progress today, the asset was certainly a danger to others, and probably a danger to itself. Acelain found thinking of the asset as 'it' to be very difficult. When they looked at the man who had once been James Buchanan Barnes, they saw a person struggling to overcome decades of abuse. But the asset didn't think of itself that way. As big of a deal as pronouns were for themself, Acelain was determined to use the pronouns the asset thought of itself as, even if it brought uncomfortable associations with people in the past deliberately misunderstanding their orientation. And the point of this wasn't to judge, but rather help guide the asset back to being a person, if indeed it ever wanted to do so. Acelain thought it did. There were scraps of half-memories floating around, and the asset seemed more afraid to consider itself anything other than a weapon than feeling that way out of any kind of preference. Acelain wasn't sure the asset had preferences.

Steve stood there, looking anxiously at them. Acelain wished they had better news to give him, but they didn't lie as a general rule, and they definitely weren't going to lie to Captain America.

“This is not going to be a quick fix, you realize that?”

Steve's face fell. “I. Yes, I am aware.”

“Walk with me Steve.” Acelain said, wanting to be out of the asset's hearing range. The asset had enough to deal with without overhearing them discussing its care.

Once they were far enough away, Acelain laid it out for him. “I think I can help. However, it's going to be a long road. Your friend may – not ever be who you once knew.”

Steve's voice was hoarse. “I understand. I don't care.”

“Right now, your friend – doesn't think that they are a person. It told me it was called the asset, and wanted me to use 'it' instead of he, or she, or they. Though it did express some interest that I can call myself 'they' and still be a person. That's positive.”

“It's positive that Bucky thinks he's – I'm sorry. That the asset thinks it's – no. I'm sorry. I understand that using pronouns is important but I just. I can't think of Bucky like that. I'll try. If. If he doesn't come back to himself but. But he is a person. He's – he's my best friend. I'm sorry.”

Steve's soul screamed out to Acelain, his thoughts a mixture of agony, and Acelain winced under the mental onslaught. “I understand that you're going to have some trouble referring to it that way. And honestly, it may be better for you to continue to call your friend Bucky, and refer to it as 'he.' The asset has confused memories about you, but I believe that it remembers you, remembers something about before. This connection is a good step in it remembering to be a person. If we continue with treatment, and your friend gets better; considers itself to be a person but still wishes to use it pronouns...do you think you could manage to do so? There are members of the transgender community who prefer the 'it' pronoun, you know.”

“Honestly? I don't know. I – I can try. I mean. I'll be whatever Bucky needs me to be. But I just. I can't not think of him as a person.”

“And that's okay, Steve. Someone needs to be that hope for your friend. I think we have overwhelmed it enough for one day. I'll leave for now, and come back in two days. In the mean time, leave the asset alone for the rest of today, and then perhaps tomorrow visit it as you would normally do. I understand your friend Sam knows a good deal about therapy in war veterans and prisoners of war?”

“Yeah. Sam's been really great.”

“Talk to him. You two could devise a strategy to help your friend when it gets to the point in its recovery that it considers itself a person again. The recovery is a long process, and it's not always linear. But there _is_ hope Steve. The asset is intelligent, it understands things. It's just – not been a person for a very long time.”

“Thank you for being honest with me. I'm not going to pretend I'm glad to hear – about what Bucky thinks of himself. But thank you. You've done more than we've been able to do in the last month. If there's anything I can do -”

“Please, Steve. It's an honor just to meet you. And Pepper is paying me for my time, so I can take as much time off work to be here as I need to. My brother and I are staying in a hotel in mutant town, but if you need me, please call. Pepper has my cell number.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“It was really great to meet you. And thank you, for being so considerate. I'll see you in two days.”

Acelain left quietly, and pretended that they didn't hear Steve start to break down the moment their back was turned.

xxx

The asset lay on its bed, staring up at the ceiling, one arm behind its head, the other laying uselessly by its side. It had – so much to think about. It hadn't had much to think about before – locations, exits from a room, position of targets, math, equations for accounting in the wind, long distance shots, degrees, angles of shots, that sort of thing. But never any thoughts for itself, beyond how it could perform to the best of its degree to avoid pain. Not that it ever really avoided pain, because there was always the _chair_ and the _cold_.

The device, and the cryo chamber. It shuddered. Thinking about them as they were, instead of abstract ideas did not make it feel better. Though it did make it feel – different. It was starting to remember more things from _before_. It always did, when it was left out of cryo too long. It tried not to, because that always meant the pain of the wipe and the freezing cold of the cryo chamber, but the process happened every time, regardless.

But now, it had an idea to go along with the memories. It – it had been a person. It _could be_ a person. It didn't know how. But it could be.

The asset had eaten when food was given to it, had managed some sleep when its body couldn't stay awake any longer, but had spent most of its time the last few days thinking. What did these captors want? Did they really want it to be a person again, or was it some kind of trick? It remembered tricks, where its captors said one thing but wanted another. It didn't like those, or the pain that came afterwords.

There was a sound at the entrance to the cage, and the asset looked up to see the telepath – _Acelain_ , it needed to remember the telepath's name – sitting there once again, the glass sliding away. The asset got up, and walked towards the telepath, until it was standing right where its foot would have once met glass. There wasn't any pain, but there was – a resistance about the air. It raised its hand, and pushed against the wall that was apparently still there that they couldn't see.

**Sorry about that, but I can't let you out yet.**

_**How??** _

**I'm telekinetic. It's a secondary mutation.**

_**What is?** _

_**It's – I can move things.**_ The image of Acelain standing, with a variety of objects swirling around themself appeared in the asset's brain, an explanation accompanying the words.

_**Effective. Long range?**_

**Fairly long range.**

_**Powerful?** _

Sadness, and the image of Acelain reaching out to touch someone, a person with indeterminate features, and that person literally vaporizing. **At times.**

**_You – were asset?_**

A bitter laugh, out loud. **You're very smart. I hadn't meant you to catch onto that. But yes. I was an asset once. Before the X-Men found me, and gave me and my brother a home away from people who would use us.**

_**X-Men are assets.** _

**I can see how you would think that. But no one is forced to join. Many of us just learn, and then graduate and go out into the world, become just people. I am a therapist for mutants or people with abilities that aren't understood by the world at large. I would protect myself or my brother if I had to, but I don't fight any more.**

_**You – chose?** _

**Yes, I chose. I didn't want to hurt anyone any more.**

_**Can – I choose?** _

**Yes, you can. Do you want to be an asset?**

_**Not. Know anything else.** _

**I can help you with that. If you want to remember, if you want to know who you were, or even just know something outside of being an asset, I can help.**

_**How.** _

**You have memories. You already remember more than you did the last time I saw you. I can help bring those memories back to you, if you want.**

_**...can choose?** _

**Yes.**

_**Can...say no?** _

**If you want to. I'm not here to force you to do anything.**

_**Still cage.**_ The asset said grumpily, pushing against the wall it couldn't see.

**You know what would happen if I let you out.**

_Finish the mission_. The thought was unbidden, and the asset pushed it away with a snarl. It didn't want to do that. It had a choice, Acelain had said so.

_**No...should...stay here. Until. Until not asset.**_

**You'd like to not be an asset any more?**

_**Not want! Am. Just. Just am.** _

The asset stood and turned away. It didn't want to do this any more.

**Are you done for today?**

The asset still didn't dare actually _say_ anything, regardless of what Acelain had said about choices. So it didn't respond, instead, and walked over to its bed and laid down, facing away from them.

**Alright. I'll leave you alone for a few days. Would it be okay if Steve visited you later?**

_What happened to you? I joined the army._ Whispers of memory, and a sharp longing.

**_Yes._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments really help me keep going! <3 <3 <3


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: This chapter Bucky recalls his former self. There's panic attacks and warnings for Hydra, language of course, and well, most everything that's in the tags. But we're at the cusp of things improving!!
> 
> There's a Darcy cameo here. I love her. :3

“ _Bucky!”_

_“Hang on!”_

_“Grab my hand!”_

_“_ _**No!!** _ _”_

_“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!”_ _The swift feeling of vertigo, wind biting into him, the terror of knowing he was going to die, and then the landing; pain everywhere. And then cold, so, so cold, it would never leave him. And then nothing, delirium. Until he was found._

 _At first – hope. He'd been_ found _. Of course Steve would look for him, he never should have doubted it. And then despair, when he saw the uniform. It wasn't Steve._

_And then, only agony._

The asset woke with a jolt. He – he had a name. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. He was a _person_. He'd known that, or at least, been aware that his captors – _Steve_ thought that. But he hadn't really known he was a person. It hadn't connected with him until now.

Steve was _alive_ now. That had been the worst thing, the thing that had absolutely shattered him during his captivity. Steve had died. He'd been shown the news articles. He'd been forced to listen the memorial broadcast over and over. Steve had died, and he was alone.

But Steve hadn't died, or aged, and he was here, he was _alive_. And Bucky had almost killed him. Just the thought of it ate at him, twisted his stomach with nausea even though he hardly ever got sick. He just wanted to curl up and die. He'd almost killed Steve.

There wasn't a reprieve to digest this revelation or try to deal with the guilt. Today was a therapy day, and Acelain appeared, as they always did, right on time. The glass slid away, Acelain sat down in the lotus pose, and waited for Bucky to acknowledge them.

Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to. It was easier just to lay here and stare at the wall.

But Acelain was a telepath, and avoiding them didn't really work, because after enough time had passed, there was the familiar voice in his head,

**Do you feel like talking today?**

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say no so desperately, but instead what he said was, “Do you think I could take a shower? Or a bath. Yeah. Not a shower.”

**You've recovered a sense of self, then.**

“I'm not better, if that's what you're implying.”

**No, I didn't think so. Especially since you're refusing to talk mind to mind with me. That implies you don't actually want to share what you're thinking.**

He didn't. “You said I could say no.”

**You can. Let me see about bathing arrangements. And perhaps fresh clothing?**

Bucky was abruptly aware of how badly he stank, and how stiff the clothing he wore was. He had no idea how much time he'd lost between when he'd recognized Steve on the bridge and now. Since he'd _shot_ him and now.

“Yes. Please.”

And he wasn't better, because even that simple act of asking for something made his whole body cringe, expecting to be beaten. He had gotten his sense of self back, but that didn't make things easier. If anything, he thought it might be harder. His head was a mess of thoughts, jumbled together. The only clear thing was an overwhelming sense of guilt and despair.

Acelain got up and left, but didn't close the glass. Bucky didn't even try to leave. Either the telekinetic field would still be there blocking his way, or he would leave and risk running into Steve. He didn't know if his brainwashing would still hold, if he would try to attack Steve, or not. Or if he didn't, if he'd be able to avoid breaking down with guilt and shame. And if Steve was in rut – it was just better to stay here.

The telepath returned shortly, with an armful of clothing, some toiletries, and a towel. “JARVIS has outfitted the room next to this one as a private bathroom. If you would follow me?”

Bucky stood warily, not sure if he trusted himself to not lose it the moment he stepped out of his cell.

“You saw what I can do. I won't let you hurt anyone.”

The memory of Acelain _dissolving_ someone came to him, and he shuddered. “I won't be any trouble.”

 **You may not know what triggers you. Give yourself time, and be patient. I'm not going to** _**dissolve** _ **you. Just prevent you from hurting yourself or anyone else. You can't hurt anyone if you are immobilized, and it is an easy enough thing for me to do.**

Bucky nodded shakily, and said nothing.

For a moment, he thought Acelain was going to come into the bathroom with him. He hesitated, and then took the pile of clothes from Acelain's outstretched hands. Then he walked in, not even bothering to look around at the room, and set his pile on an opulent counter. He flinched at the sight of the shower head.

“ _Here, hose it down, it fucking stinks.”_

_“You really think that's going to do the job? It's got brain matter in its hair. Someone's going to have to get that out.”_

_“Well I'm not doing it. Did you see the way it ripped that guy apart? I'm not getting anywhere near it!”_

_“It's gotta know how to wash itself, right?”_

_“You think if it did we'd be hosing it down?”_

Bucky came back from the memory huddled on the tile floor, his body wedged as far into the corner as it would go, his malfunctioning arm pulled in front of him, like that was going to shield him from anything. He was shaking. He didn't remember sitting on the floor, or remember when he'd started breathing so frantically.

He'd remembered himself – that was supposed to be positive right? But he was even less functional than before. The asset didn't have hysterics. It got the job done with perfect detachment, patched itself up, did whatever it had to survive. Bucky couldn't even manage to get himself clean.

He reached desperately for that detachment, only to have something push him away from it. There was a knock on the door, and at his small whimper of acknowledgment, it swung open, and Acelain came in. Their face was a perfect study in neutrality.

**You don't need that. Don't go back to that.**

_**But it's**_ **hard** _ **.**_ Bucky poured his frustration and fear into the statement.

“Do you want me to help you? Or I could go get Steve?”

“No!” Bucky cringed as he said it, but he couldn't. He didn't want Steve to see him like this, huddled and pathetic. He couldn't bear it if Steve saw him like this.

“Okay. Do you want me to – I could run the bath?”

Bucky looked over at the tub, and then looked up at the shower head and shuddered.

Acelain tilted their head, and the shower head flattened with a sad little crunch until it was a flat, metal disc against the wall. “Better?”

Bucky let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding. “Y-yeah.”

The switch on the tub went down, and the faucet turned on, beginning to fill the tub with piping hot water. Acelain twitched a finger, and the water adjusted itself, until it was steaming, but no longer as hot as it could go.

“Will you be alright?”

Bucky nodded. He could bathe himself. Even the asset knew how to clean itself up, though it had rarely been given the opportunity. It was important to know how to clean blood off after a kill, in case the mission required stealth. Bucky wished he could stop remembering.

Acelain left the room again, and Bucky got himself up and undressed, grabbed the toiletries off the pile, and eased himself into the tub. It was surprisingly relaxing. He wasn't sure he'd ever had a full, hot bath before. He'd always shared water with his siblings or Steve, and there was never enough hot, clean water to go around, or enough fuel to heat it with. Then the war, where there was just quick scrub downs taken standing up, or no showers at all, when they were out in the field. And after that – he didn't want to think about that.

It was hard to relax. He let himself lay there for about ten minutes, his metal arm laid carefully across the edge of the tub, before the tenseness in his muscles from waiting to be shouted at, or hurt, or to wake up and find this had all been some kind of drug induced hallucination got to be worse than the good the hot water was doing, and he set about cleaning up as fast as possible so he could get out.

He was filthy. He used the included shampoo to scrub his hair until it was no longer matted and greasy, though it still hung strangely long around his shoulders. There was an unscented soap, and Bucky scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. It had some kind of pumice in it, and layers of dirt and dead skin came off his body. But no matter how he scrubbed, he couldn't get rid of the scent of alpha clinging to his skin. He didn't like it. It made him distinctly uncomfortable. He shouldn't ever smell like any alpha except Steve.

But – the asset had been an alpha. He remembered that very clearly. The asset must be an alpha. The asset must be a weapon. But he wasn't an alpha, he was an omega, regardless of how much he and Steve had pretended otherwise. He'd – had a baby, he remembered that. Or – he'd been going to have a baby? It was very confusing, but he definitely remembered something about being pregnant. And he'd felt the cramps and the slick between his legs even as the asset, though he hadn't really understood what they'd meant at the time. That was the precursor to going into heat. He knew that like he knew how to bathe. His scent, his presentation, that was all something that was part of his sense of self. He knew he was Bucky – he knew he was omega.

So why did he smell like alpha?

The thought troubled him as he drained the tub and got out, drying himself off as briskly as possible. He dressed in the plain, soft clothes that had been provided; gray sweatpants, light blue shirt. All loose fitting, no strings or belts or zippers that he could use to harm himself. He didn't know what to think of that. The asset would never take its own life, but Bucky Barnes might.

He left the filthy towel and clothes on the floor, since he didn't know what else to do with them, and opened the door. He just wanted to go back to his cell and lay down and not _be_ for a while. He hated the fact that apparently just taking a bath was too much for him, but he'd only come back to himself this morning. There was still so much to process.

Acelain seemed to be able to tell he was struggling. Of course they could tell; they were telepathic. Who knew what else they knew? Anything Bucky was projecting, probably. Did he project a lot? How did you tell, if you weren't telepathic? Oh god, was he thinking too loudly?

“Just try to relax. I'm thinking you've had enough interaction for today?”

They were back at Bucky's cell, and he didn't even try to argue, he just went inside and sat down on the bed. The sheets had been changed, and there was a soft blanket and pillow, now. Bucky had the blanket wrapped around himself before he even knew what was going on.

“I just want to sit and think, if that's okay.” Actually that wasn't true, he wanted to sit and not think as much as possible. Maybe sleep. He was so fucking tired. The asset hadn't wanted to sleep in this strange place with unknown captors, but Bucky wanted to sleep. Maybe forever.

“Alright. Steve will probably want to come see you later. What should I tell him?”

God, Steve. Bucky didn't know if he was up for that. And yet, he owed Steve, owed him so much for not killing him, for helping him. Because this cell was Steve helping him, he knew that, even if he had hated it as the asset, even if it made him uncomfortable now.

“I – maybe? Maybe...see if you can tell him not to get his hopes up? Everything's so jumbled. I don't know if I'm going to – to still be here later, you know?”

“I understand. Try not to push yourself. You are recovering, and it's best to just let yourself recover naturally. It's normal to be overstimulated. I'll be back in a few days, and if you're still aware of yourself, perhaps we can talk of moving to some more traditional therapies.”

Therapy. Only crazy people had to go to therapy. Of course he was nuts, how could he not be? He felt like he was barely clinging onto himself, drowning in a sea of memories and terror. “Yeah. I. I don't know.”

Acelain seemed to understand that he was overwhelmed, and they left quietly, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts. That wasn't much better, but at least he could lay down on the pillow and pull the blanket tighter around himself, and try to do something about the mess in his head, and maybe if he was lucky get a little sleep.

xxx

Apparently Bucky's new place of residence wasn't a secret, at least not from anyone who associated with the Avengers. Sam had taken a sabbatical and was not so subtly giving Steve the kind of therapy SHIELD had always tried to get him to accept, and coming up with potential game plans for how they could begin to help Bucky once Acelain had given the go ahead that he had a solid enough grip on 'himself' to begin.

Natasha had shown up after the first month, bringing Clint, and while she had yet to go and actually visit Bucky (no one did except Acelain and Banner for treatments, and Steve for short visits; they were attempting to limit his interaction and keep from overwhelming him.) She had gone off with both Bruce, Tony and Sam separately, and had long, serious conversations from which they had all come back pale and shaking, and Bruce with more than a little green in his eyes. Steve didn't know for sure, because he didn't ask, but he had a feeling that Natasha was sharing some of her experience with being remade, in order to help Bucky. It was such a deep, personal thing for her to do, Steve didn't even begin to know how to thank her. So instead they sparred, and she gave him bruises on his bruises, and helped distract him from the fact that it had been more than two months now and Bucky could barely remember who he was from day to day.

Tony and Bruce could be found in the lab at all hours of the day and night, arguing theories about how to best balance Bucky's physical, mental, and engineering needs. Bruce wanted something that would be easier on Bucky's system, while Tony was concerned about how much of the original bone there was left to anchor to, and the likelihood that they wouldn't be able to alter the arm at all. Bucky didn't have a strong enough healing factor to survive the only current known way to remove adamantium once it was grafted onto a skeleton. Plus there were complications with the entire arm; it was apparently unstable, and Tony was more than concerned about the power source currently running it.

They tried not to let Steve worry, of course. Generally by stopping the conversation as soon as they noticed he was in the room. Which, granted, wasn't very effective when you considered that they could become completely engrossed in their work, and sometimes Steve stood there and listened to them bicker for nearly an hour before they noticed he was there.

Most of the time Steve felt useless. He beat the hell out of a punching bag whenever he could, sparred with Natasha and visited Bucky whenever his friend could stand it. Which left a lot of time sitting around drinking terrible coffee, or pacing, or sitting in his room staring at the wall and hoping that someone would give him some answers. Sam kept nagging him to figure out something to do that he enjoyed, something for himself, but Steve had no more idea what he wanted to do now than he had the last time Sam had asked him. He watched things on Netflix, surfed the internet, read books on his increasingly longer list of things he needed to catch up on, but it all felt empty, blank.

What everyone else didn't seem to understand was how much of his life had revolved around Bucky. Everyone knew they were best friends, but best friends in this time didn't live in hundred square foot apartments together, or curl up together at night for warmth because the radiator was out again. Best friends didn't sit with you every few months while you rattled and coughed and honestly thought that this time you were going to die. That was something – beyond what most people had in friendships in this age. Hell, it had been strange in Steve's day too; no one had ever understood why Bucky put up with such a sickly omega. Bucky'd gotten into more fights because people told him he could do better than Steve than he had fights about anything else.

After the ice, after he'd woken in this strange world, alone, Steve had mostly gotten through by working. He was alone, he knew he was alone, and once he'd had a chance to grieve he'd mostly felt empty. He wasn't going to kill himself or anything, but he didn't go out of his way to survive either. He took the most brutal missions, was always willing to sacrifice himself for the cause, for anyone else's life. It wasn't really living per se, but he'd kept busy. Pretended to fill that hole of emptiness with something worthwhile.

And then Bucky was there, he was alive, and that hole ate at Steve more than it ever had. He'd failed Bucky. All that time he'd thought he was alone, but really Bucky was there, being someone's weapon, someone's tool. While Steve slept and slept, Bucky had been tortured, brainwashed, remade. Steve should have been there. What was the point of everything he was if he couldn't save the one person who meant more to him than anything else?

It wasn't even a matter of biology. Yes, he was an alpha and hardwired to protect, but that wasn't even the issue. Even if he was really an omega like everyone had thought he was, he'd always wanted to protect Bucky. It had always grated on him to be the one who was protected. He tried to do what he could for Bucky, taking the blame, passing as omega, doing what he could for Bucky, but it never felt like enough. He knew Bucky had gone hungry when they didn't have enough food, knew Bucky worked extra hours when Steve needed medicine like he always did.

Sometimes Bucky would even pick up jobs while he was having his heat, far away from the docks, sewing clothes or cooking or anything else that was omega-approved. He'd come home exhausted and feverish, and they'd make out or fuck if Steve was healthy enough, and then he'd pass out and do it all again the next day, and sometimes all Steve could do was lay in bed and struggle to breathe and feel guilty once again for existing.

Without Bucky, there was no one to call him on his shit any more. Sam tried, but he'd only known Steve for a very short amount of time, and he was also trying to act as Steve's therapist, so he was more strategic about when to push and when to not, which Bucky had never been. Bucky had always pushed and pushed, and Steve had always pushed back, knowing that no matter what stupid thing he did or said, Bucky could handle it. Now he had to be careful, felt like he had to watch every single thing he said, walking on eggshells and hoping he didn't break something.

And that wasn't Bucky's fault, he was recovering. Hell, Steve was proud of him just for managing to do anything. They had conversations; stilted, awkward conversations, and sometimes Steve would bring a pack of cards and they'd sit and play poker and not say very much, and Steve would let Bucky win until the other man got frustrated and told him to stop, and then he'd play a few honest rounds, and then keep doing it anyway.

Today Bucky wasn't feeling up to visitors, so Steve was sitting in the communal kitchen, staring morosely at his coffee, when suddenly his space was _invaded_ by a person who he did not know. A short, aggressively female person with long brown hair, a pink beanie and scarf over a knitted baby-blue cardigan tunic and black leggings was practically _looming_ over him. He looked up from his coffee, startled, and immediately put on edge by the subtle scent of alpha in the air. He didn't _like_ strange alphas in his space, it was a biological thing. He tried to put on a smile anyway, because he wasn't his presentation and he could be polite, but it probably looked like it was cut with razors.

The woman opened her mouth, probably to yell at him, but what came out was more of a plaintive whine than an angry assault. “No, no, no, don't do that. You're Captain America, you're like, my childhood hero. Don't look at me like that.”

She sniffed under her armpits like she was trying to be discreet but really wasn't, and made the most impressive bitch face that Steve had seen since before Bucky went off to war. “Dammit, I _knew_ I didn't put enough scent blockers on this morning. I'm not an alpha, okay? I mean I _am_ but only because alpha suppressants suck major dick and the market is full of alpha-haters who would rather focus on good omega suppressants because alphas 'can't control themselves anyway.' So I might be having a small case of rut right now so I stink but honestly I couldn't be bothered less to do any of that macho alpha bullshit and I'm asexual so I'm really not a threat to you at _all_.”

Steve just stared, completely taken aback by the stream of words. Then the strange woman seemed to realize what she'd just said, and she turned completely red and stammered,

“And I just came out to Captain America, without even so much as a 'hi, you're so amazing I've looked up to you forever.' Oh god, now I'm making it worse. Shut up Darcy, just shut up, oh god, someone please make me stop talking.”

Steve couldn't help but smile now; a real smile. He held out his hand for her to shake and said, “Hello Darcy, nice to meet you. My name is Steve.”

She took his hand in both of hers and shook it while simultaneously looking like she wanted to take Steve's hand and run off with it. “Oh, I know. I know practically _everything_ about you. Wow that sounds creepy out loud. I'm sorry.”

“Believe it or not, I'm kinda used to that,” Steve said, extracting his hand from her grip. “So Darcy, what brings you by the Avengers secret headquarters today?”

That set her off again, because she plopped down in the chair across from Steve like they'd been friends all their lives, and rolled her eyes. “ _Semi_ -secret headquarters at best. Pretty much everyone who works for Stark Industries knows you guys live here. I mean, yes, okay, I'm interning for Miss Potts right now – man is that woman fabulous, I hope to someday be half as awesome as her – but it's really not that hard to find information around here.

“I was bored one day because yes, Miss Potts is fabulous but she's also really busy and sometimes I don't get enough work to do and I get bored, and there is only so long one can stalk people on Facebook without taking evasive action. So I was practicing my hacking skills on the mainframe – terribly useful skill, hacking, Jane had me do it all the time – and I saw some files that were flagged for immediate deletion so of course I _had_ to look at them and it said that _Bucky Barnes_ was here but that's impossible because he's dead, you know? Of course you know. Oh god, I'm terribly insensitive.

“But Jane is always talking about positive action and how we can't just sit around and let the men do everything, and she's like _super pissed_ at Thor for being shut away for the alien invasion btw, and so I thought, Darcy, you'd better just go see what's going on for yourself.”

Steve didn't know what to do with this barrage of information. Part of him just wanted to run away and hide, and part of him wants to drag Darcy off to some kind of interrogation room to find out _everything she knew_ and make sure she was not going to say a word about Bucky and perhaps involve blackmail somehow. The rest of him was still processing how to even deal with this person. He'd never really gotten the hang of talking to a woman, and he certainly didn't know what to say to Darcy. He didn't think he'd ever met a woman like Darcy.

Thankfully, he was saved by Stark, who'd come into the kitchen for his umpteenth coffee. “JARVIS, why is there an stranger in my kitchen?”

“Miss Lewis is interning with Miss Potts, sir.”

“Let me rephrase: JARVIS, why is there an intern in my kitchen?”

“I'm afraid Miss Lewis was able to hack into my system files and discovered the presence of Sargent Barnes, sir.” JARVIS managed to sound dreadfully disappointed in himself while simultaneously extremely proud of Darcy.

“She did what?” Tony exclaimed to the air, then put his coffee down and turned to stare at Darcy. “You did what?”

“You really ought to consider upgrading your internal security, Mr. Stark. Sure, it's hard to gain access from outside the building, but if you're working inside of it, there's a few really terrible holes in your firewall. Plus you have so much data flowing around the building, things get flagged for deletion a good fifteen minutes before they get really overwritten.”

She then seemed to realize that she was lecturing _Tony Stark_ about computer security. She shrank back a bit, before straightening again and saying, “I mean. I know Thor so, it's not like it's a huge security leak. Since I already know about aliens and everything. I'm the best person who could have discovered this, really. I think I could help.”

Tony picked up his coffee with a grim look, sat down at the table and stirred in cream and sugar until his coffee resembled a desert rather than a beverage. Then he pulled his spoon out of his coffee and pointed it sharply in Darcy's direction, splattering coffee across the table.

“Pepper is perfectly capable of taking care of herself.”

Darcy sounded almost reverent as she said, “Well, duh. She can set people on _fire_.”

Tony sniffed, and took a drink of his boiling hot coffee, most certainly burning his tongue. “Just so we're clear. Now. Tell me about these security leaks.”

xxx

“How are you doing today James?”

Bucky eyed the doctor warily. So far, Dr. Banner had been gentle and kind, had treated him with the utmost respect. Bucky didn't trust it. Dr. Banner was calm – too calm. He had this...feel about him, like he was holding something back, keeping something in check, and that most of his concentration was diverted to that task regardless of whatever else he was doing. On the one hand, Bucky was glad of it, because that meant that the full force of the doctor's' attention was not on him, but at the same time, it made him nervous, because a doctor was examining him, was treating him, and only partially paying attention. It reminded him of the callous detachment of the scientists who'd experimented on him for HYDRA.

“I feel lousy,” he replied.

How did they expect him to feel? It wasn't like it was all sunshine and daises now, just because he'd remembered his goddamn name. In fact, it seemed like he might have more problems now than he'd had before, because the asset hadn't given a shit about the fact that it ached all the time. The asset only cared if it was functional, and barring that, figuring out how to operate anyway.

But Bucky felt every twinge. He felt the bone deep cold that never went away, the ache in the join between flesh and metal in his shoulder. The phantom pain where he could swear he was still gripping the rail tightly as he fell and fell and fell. The general _unwell_ feeling in the pit of his stomach, the nausea and cramping from his omega organs. He'd remembered the other day that he was supposed to be sterile. But he also had hazy memories of a pregnancy, and then even hazier memories of HYDRA – _removing_ offending organs. Bucky suspected those memories were only hazy because he didn't want to remember them. In any case, there shouldn't be anything left down there, but he could _feel_ it. Feel his body trying and failing to go into heat.

Then there was the pervasive smell of alpha that followed him around. He had flashes of memory, of HYDRA officers insisting that their weapon must be an alpha, and scientists shouting about technology not being created yet, and the absolutely merciless demands that the procedure be done by any means necessary. Because Bucky was apparently an alpha now, somehow, even though everyone knew that you couldn't change your presentation no matter how much you wanted to. And Bucky would have given anything to be an alpha before, to protect Steve the way everyone thought he was. But now the scent of alpha haunted him, and he couldn't escape it, because it was inside his skin.

“I'm sorry to hear that. Your vitals look better than they did last time, though your blood pressure is a little high.”

“Don't like being examined.”

Dr. Banner gave him a sympathetic face, which Bucky almost believed. “Me neither. Though in this case, you do need someone to look after you, and while I might not be the first choice, I'm the only one available at the moment. I need to take some blood to check your hormone and healing levels, and the metal toxicity in your blood. Tony was concerned about that last time. Then we can talk about what we can do to help you feel better, alright?”

Bucky supposed it was kind of him to phrase it like Bucky had any choice at all. He nodded, and held out his flesh arm. Dr. Banner was swift and efficient as he drew blood. It didn't really hurt at all, but Bucky had to look away when he started getting nauseous seeing his blood running out of his body like that. It was too much like the pre-cryo prep for him to feel anything else.

Once the blood had been drawn and placed into a cooler for later analysis, Dr. Banner took a seat on a rolling stool, and asked him seriously, “What's making you feel so lousy? I can't promise we can fix all of it, but I want to help, if I can.”

“My arm hurts,” he said, and tugged at the join between his body and the cold metal. “It hurts all the time. And there's this – I don't know. Like a low _buzzing_ inside my arm, inside my head. It's not really a buzzing but I don't know how else to describe it. It gives me a headache, and it never goes away. Sometimes it's more obvious and sometimes less, but it's always there.”

“That's probably the neural feedback from the arm. Tony thought it might be giving you trouble.”

“The asset didn't care. The asset was used to it. But I hate it. And it's cold. I'm _cold_ , all the time. Here, and here,” he pointed to his left rib cage and collarbone, “and everywhere really, but especially there.”

“Where the arm is anchored to your skeleton.”

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah.”

“How badly does it hurt? Normally we use a scale of 1-10, but you've gone through enough to greatly skew that spectrum so – perhaps an analogy?”

“I – I dunno. It doesn't hurt as much as getting shot, maybe about like getting stabbed somewhere non-vital. But that's more of a sharp pain, this is more of a dull ache. Like a chill. Like – like when they were gonna put me in cryo, or when I was just coming out of it. It hurts like that.”

Dr. Banner wrote that down. Bucky decided he despised that notebook. It was full of his symptoms and complaints, yet rarely offered answers.

“Anything else?” The doctor asked seriously, though Bucky noticed his eyes seemed to sparkle just a little more green than they had before, which was unusual.

“I'm nauseous a lot. I don't know if that's from the headache or the pain though. My stomach just – hurts a lot.”

“Have you been throwing up?” Dr. Banner seemed a little more anxious about this, probably because for the first few days after gaining awareness, Bucky hadn't been able to keep anything down and had had to be put on an IV.

“No. I just kinda feel like I'm gonna hurl all the time.”

“Alright. Anything else?”

“Ain't that enough?”

“If you don't tell me everything, I can't help you.”

Again, Bucky almost believed that. Dr. Banner had this way of being very sincere. It was hard to mistrust him, even when Bucky pretty much mistrusted everyone. “I dunno. I'm – I'm an omega, right? I remember being one. Steve said he was the omega but he wasn't, it was me. But the asset was an alpha. I remember that too. And I remember HYDRA _removing_ -” he couldn't say it. Bile rose in his throat. “I shouldn't be an omega any more, right? I mean that's supposed to be gone. But I – I kinda feel achy, crampy, like I'm gonna go into heat soon. But I smell like alpha. I'm just – just confused, I guess.”

Dr. Banner set his notebook down. “You're a very special case, James.”

“You can't change presentation. I know you can't. Right? That's – that's not a _thing_.”

“No, in general, you can't change your presentation. Some people are born without one, though it's very rare. But we currently don't have the technology to change someone's presentation. But – it seems like HYDRA did.”

“What – what do you. _Tell me._ ” Bucky insisted.

“You were omega before, you're correct. We spoke to Steve in length about it. He seemed reluctant to tell us very many details without your consent, but you were very sick, and unable to tell us yourself at the time. You presented as omega very late in life, and you and Steve faked your presentation as an alpha.”

“He was – really sickly all the time. Said no one'd think twice about him being omega, even if he smelled differently sometimes.”

“Yes. Then you were drafted, and participated in an experimental suppressant study.”

“I don't – remember that.” He had a vague recollection of being very, very ill, and a horrible sinking feeling that he and Steve would never have children, and then the self-hatred of even letting himself _have_ that thought – but that was all.

“Steve insisted it rendered you sterile.”

Bucky drew in a short sharp breath. “But – but I remember – something about being pregnant?”

Dr. Banner nodded. He took off his glasses and spent a long time cleaning them thoroughly. Bucky was confused at first, but Dr. Banner's eyes were almost completely green now, and there was a rather frightening green tinge to his skin that slowly faded as he did the basic ritual of cleaning glasses that probably didn't need to be cleaned.

He put his glasses back on and said, “Yes. Steve said that after he found you at the HYDRA base, you were in heat, and he in rut. There was a – rather impulsive coupling, and then six months later you miscarried. Steve – he looked very guilty about that.”

“He would blame himself.” Bucky said, to cover up how he was reeling about his apparent loss of – well. A baby. _Steve's_ baby. He didn't know if he should cry or – he didn't remember it. But _Steve's baby._

“What about now? I mean. None of that explains how I'm – how I reek of alpha now.”

“We're not sure, still. How it was done, exactly. But they – you have an artificial knot, and your body is producing some alphogyn, and some is being added to your system, along with low grade omegeren blockers. Beyond that, there seems to be both omega and alpha areas of your brain activated, though it looks like they – pardon me. That they tried to turn that part of you – off. But your brain is very resilient. I'm not sure if it's the serum or something else, but you've survived remarkably well.”

Dr. Banner was definitely green tinged now.

“Are you alright?”

“I'm sorry,” he said, “it's not very professional. I – how would you like me to wrap your arm in a sling? I'm not sure reactivating it is in your best interest, but if your arm is held up, that should relieve some of the pressure and weight off your back.”

Bucky could tell that Dr. Banner needed to change the subject. He didn't particularly feel like talking about it any more, either. “That – yeah that'd be okay.”

“Alright. Is it okay if I wrap it for you?”

Bucky nodded. Dr. Banner reached into one of the medical cabinets and pulled out a large sheet, which he folded and then tucked under the arm, lifting it up into a resting position. Then he tied it around the back of Bucky's neck, folding the edges under so that Bucky could lay down without it poking into his neck.

“How's that feel?”

Bucky stood up, and tested his weight distribution. The arm was still dead weight, but it was more stable now, not swinging around. The pain was still there, a dull ache in his shoulder, but everything felt a bit better. More stable.

“Better, yeah. Still hurts though.”

Dr. Banner pulled out a small, rectangular white package, and held it up. “This is an instant heating pack. If you crack it like this,” he cracked it in half, and it crackled, “then it will produce heat for up to eight hours. Can I put this on your shoulder?”

“Yeah.”

Dr. Banner came over, moving slowly, and placed the pack between the layers of sheet holding up his arm and his thin t-shirt. The pack radiated heat all along the join between his arm and torso. It soaked into the cold metal, and the heat radiated along Bucky's arm. The ache slowly eased, and Bucky exhaled slowly. He hadn't even realized how much it had hurt until he had relief.

“Wow. Thank you.”

“I could also probably give you a painkiller with your food in the evenings. Anything at a high enough dose to be effective on you or Steve tends to be soporific – makes you sleepy, but that could be good. I don't think you've been sleeping enough.”

Bucky shook his head. He knew he definitely hadn't been.

“It's not quite dinner time yet, but I could give you a painkiller now to try, and you could let me know tomorrow if it helped?”

He nodded, and accepted the pill the doctor handed him, put it on his tongue, and swallowed it down with a swig of water from a cheap plastic cup he was handed. At that point, he was more than ready to go back to his cell, lay down on the mattress, and think. He lay there on his back, thinking muzzily through the haze of the painkiller, that it would be nice to see the sun again. Maybe lay out on the balcony with Steve...soaking up the sunlight.

That would be really great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice a shift in Bucky's pronouns here. This is deliberate. I'm attempting to show the shift from a weapon, (the asset) to Bucky as he remembers himself, (the Bucky Steve knew) and then into who they've become, discovering neutral pronouns, that sort of thing.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really freaking long chapter here, hope you enjoy it!! :D
> 
> Warnings for language, panic attacks, depression, PTSD, evil science Nazi's.
> 
> There's a scene about legal matters; I researched my best, but it may contain inaccuracies. Plus the American legal system is fucked anyways.
> 
> Oh yes! You finally get to meet Acelain's little brother. :3 More notes at the end about him.

Bucky was bored. He supposed he should be grateful for this revelation. So far, he'd been too ill to be bored. He'd either been trapped in the mind of the asset, who only cared about physical perfection and the ability to carry out its missions, or he'd been bedridden with pain and guilt as his memories trickled back in and Bucky Barnes slowly crept back out of the prison of his own mind.

But now he'd stabilized. He'd not had a new memory in the last three days, and while that was probably because of the lack of stimulus in his cell, that was also the entire fucking problem. He was bored. There wasn't any music, or books, or paper or fucking anything. Only the mess in his head, and that was horrible enough that if he wasn't being forced to remember something he didn't spend any time in it.

Steve probably would have liked to come visit, but Bucky didn't want to see him. And at the same time, he wanted to see him disparately. He wanted to grab Steve and kiss him, fuck him until he couldn't breathe. Not that that would actually work, because his body seemed to have forgotten how to get aroused somewhere between 1944 and now. And it was unlikely that Steve would be amenable to that plan in any case.

Bucky snarled, and pushed himself up off his mattress with one hand, the other still bound against his chest in the sling. He hated that today, too. If they couldn't fix his fucking arm they could at least take it off. Or do _something_ with the damn thing. Right now it was as about as useful as a paperweight. A huge fucking paperweight cemented to his fucking arm. It threw his balance off. It ached, even with the painkillers and the heat packs. Except now he noticed it aching, and it was like having a rotten tooth in his mouth – it ached and ached, but he couldn't get it taken out, and he was about ready to take a pair of pliers to the whole thing. Maybe Stark had a vibranium hack-saw he could take the arm off with. He just wanted it _gone_.

Bucky paced, like the asset used to do, noticing how his gait was affected by the bound arm. That only made him angrier. The floor was cold against his bare feet. He'd had the same tasteless bread with peanut butter made for famine victims for breakfast that he'd had every day for the last month. He wanted to see Steve. He didn't want to see Steve. He wanted to see the fucking sun again.

He didn't even realize he was punching the glass until his hand finally broke against it.

“Fuck!”

That set off alarms, and since this wasn't a therapy day, that meant Steve and Dr. Banner and Stark all came running down the hall, and Bucky just screamed at them.

“Go _away!_ Just leave me _alone!”_

“Bucky, your hand,” Steve said, while Dr. Banner started to get very green, and Stark looked a bit nervous.

“Fuck my hand! Fuck you!” His head _hurt_. He just wanted everyone to _shut up shut up go away leave him alone!_

The glass slid back, probably so they could get to him, and he lashed out immediately, going for Steve's throat. Steve was ready for him, and grabbed his arm as gently as he could, his leg twisting behind Bucky's to try to trip him. Bucky snarled, shifted mid swing, slammed into him with the dead metal arm, shoving Steve away from him and making a break for it down the hall. Steve caught up within seconds, had hold of his one good arm, was twisting it up around his back that made him scream with remembered pain.

“No! _No_! Leave me _alone!_ ”

“I'm so sorry Bucky,” he heard Steve say, and then there was a sharp prick in his neck, and then he was swirling away into unconsciousness.

xxx

He came back to consciousness to the sound of people arguing. It was an awful sound in any situation, but he'd never heard Steve so _angry_ before, going on about how

“- I brought Bucky to you to get better, you can't just keep him caged up like an animal -”

“ -ing to help him, Steve,”

“- called me in when I was out with my brother, what the hell did you do?”

“Hey man, just chill out for a second,”

“Bruce, you don't look so good.”

_Shut up, shut up, shut UP!_ He screamed inside his head, and tried to sit up. It was useless. They'd strapped him to the fucking bed. He felt the cold wash of panic across his mind as he struggled with the restraints while simultaneously trying not to attract any attention. He had to get out, had to get _out_ , he wouldn't go back to the chair, he wouldn't he _wouldn't_.

There was a tiny hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to see a kid, no older than twelve or thirteen, in a big yellow hoodie with a smiley face on it. The child's eyes were a pale amber, and they stared right into him. The – boy? - let go of Bucky's shoulder for a moment, spread his hands in front of him with his thumbs touching, and pushed his hands down twice. Then he put one hand curled up with his thumb pointing upward in his other, cupped hand, and made a arcing motion with his hands that went from himself up, and then towards Bucky, with raised, questioned eyebrows.

“I don't understand.” He said. Or meant to say, but mostly just a small groan came out.

The boy smiled, and placed his hand back on Bucky's shoulder.

**It's okay. Let me help you.**

Another telepath? Bucky wanted to be freaked out, but instead, he was filled with a gentle calm. He was still upset, he knew he was, it was just distant now. He wasn't muddle headed though, like he would have been from drugs, or asleep like he'd been after whatever he'd been given before. He furrowed his brows together, and tried to respond like he'd responded to Acelain.

_**Telepath? You?** _

The boy nodded. **Is this okay? I don't speak mind to mind normally without asking, but Ace is busy and you don't know ASL so.**

Bucky knew a quite a few spoken languages, or the asset did, and he knew Morse code, and possibly other ciphers, but aside from a few strategical signs, he did not know ASL. _**You're deaf?**_

The boy shrugged. **Just because I'm deaf doesn't mean I can't hear.** He tapped the side of his head. **I've always been able to hear. People just have trouble hearing me, is all.**

_**You – should teach me sometime. You're Ace's brother, right?** _

The boy grinned now. **Yes. My name is Bea. I could teach you ASL. Or Ace could. They're a certified interpreter.**

**_That's pretty cool._ ** Bucky was startled by the words coming out of his own brain. _**Why am I so calm?**_

**I'm an empath, too. I can make you feel better.** Bea wiggled his fingers.

Bucky wasn't sure how he felt about a kid messing around with his head, but at the same time it seemed to be helping, and it wasn't like anyone else was helping him, they were all too busy yelling at each other to even notice he'd woken up.

A short, sandy-haired man that Bucky didn't know, who was wearing entirely too much purple, appeared in the door. “The hell is going on here? I could hear you all with my hearing aids out. Who's the kid?”

Bea looked up when he saw Bucky's gaze shift over to the door. He looked at the strange man, and then back at Bucky with his eyebrows raised.

_**He wants to know who you are. I don't know who he is.** _

Bea made an 'O' shape with his mouth, and then turned towards the strange man, and signed slowly at the other man. Bucky was facing the wrong way so he couldn't see all of it, and didn't know what it meant, but Bea was smiling, at least.

The man's eyebrows rose, and he responded back, signing while saying aloud, “Hey Bea. I'm Clint. Yes, I speak ASL. I'm deaf, too.”

Bea's eyes grew even wider, and the biggest grin Bucky had seen since Steve was little came over his face. He reached out and tugged on Acelain's sleeve, interrupting what had become quite a heated argument, pointing at Clint and flashing fast signs.

“You're deaf, too? And a super hero?” Acelain asked, signing as they spoke. They had angled their body so that both Clint and Bea could see them. Bucky could just see the movement of their hands around the side of Bea's head.

“Sure am.” Clint smiled, also signing as he spoke. “I lost my hearing later on. Had to go to lots of speech therapy so I could speak the same. Wouldn't want the bad guys to take advantage of me. Plus Stark made me some pretty nifty hearing aids.” Clint turned to the side so that Bea could see the sleek black hearing airs that curled around his ear. “Don't fix everything of course, but it helps. It's awesome meeting someone who speaks ASL though.”

Bucky didn't know what Bea signed in response, but he looked like Clint had made his year. Bucky was hit with a sudden flash of memory. He'd once looked at Steve that way, like the guy hung the moon. Steve was small and sickly, but he'd been everything to Bucky.

A short, violently red-headed woman appeared in the doorway next to Clint. Bucky had the sudden sensation that he'd tried to kill her – flashes of red hair, a wire around his neck...hadn't she been smaller, once? Her face looked murderous.

“Everyone get out. You are making this worse. Yes, Steve. That means you.”

Then she turned a brilliant smile on Bea. She didn't look like she was fluent, but she added signs to her words and spoke slowly, enunciating clearly. “You are adorable. Make Clint show you around, I know he'd love to.”

Bea apparently understood enough of this, or picked up on the woman's thoughts, because he nodded, and followed a rather concerned looking Clint out of the room. He did turn back to wave at Bucky before he left.

**Everything will be alright. You'll see.**

Bucky didn't really believe him, but it was sweet, in a childish way. The unnatural calm lasted a few moments after Bea left the room, long enough for the woman to physically round up the men in the room and shove them unceremoniously out the door, closing it behind them. Then she rounded on Bucky, pulled up a chair next to the bed he was strapped to, and sat down. She crossed one leg over the other, and placed her hands in her lap, but Bucky didn't think for one second that she was relaxed.

“So. You are beginning to remember who you are. Or at least, who you once were. And it makes things worse, and not better.”

Bucky cleared his throat several times before croaking out, “How do you know?”

“Because I too, have had what was myself ripped away, and something else put in its place. I escaped, eventually, but their grip on me lasted much longer. I didn't have anyone to help me find my way, but you do.”

“And you think I should just trust you? I don't know you.”

“The only person here you know is Rogers, and you haven't exactly been opening up to him. I've seen the security tapes.”

Of course she had. She seemed like the type who needed to know everything before entering a situation. She'd probably read his file, too. If SHIELD had access to his file. Bucky wasn't sure, but some of the things Dr. Banner had said indicated that they indeed had a lot of information about what had been done to him, probably more than he himself remembered.

“I'm Natasha Romanoff.”

“Two targets, level six,” he said automatically, without knowing why.

Natasha arched her brow at him again. He had the feeling that happened a lot. “Yes, you tried to kill me. But don't feel bad, it happens a lot.”

Bucky didn't know what to say about that. He didn't really remember trying to kill her in any case. He remembered trying to kill Steve more, remembered the helicarrier exploding around them, Steve giving up, falling – all that was in excruciating detail, like it was carved into his brain in absence of any other real memories. But he only had a flash of red hair, the briefest recollection of wings, of his boot colliding with someone's face. But that could have been anyone.

“I suggest reading,” she continued on, as if they hadn't just been talking about Bucky having apparently attempting to kill her, “opening the mind back up to all the possibilities denied us. Reading for pleasure or learning, either is fine. But read. Have you remembered how, yet?”

“Of course I can -” he said, and then stopped to think about it.

She reached into a bag on the floor next to her feet, and pulled out two books. One was clearly in English – Bucky recognized the alphabet. But he couldn't read it. The letters made sense one at a time, A, B, and so on, but when he tried to put them together into an English sentence, all he got was a headache. The other book was in Russian, with curving Cyrillic lettering. He could read it perfectly.

“Why can I read in Russian and not English?”

“It was a favorite of the Red Room to strip away the native language of whomever they had captured and replace it with the mother tongue. Of course most of their assets were born Russian, but they stripped away all identity, reforming the asset to serve the ideal, regardless of how they had been raised. I'm actually surprised you don't have more difficulty speaking English. It took me quite some time to recall how.”

Bucky shook his head. “I've spoken English since I remembered who I was.”

She nodded, “Perhaps that is because for you, English is part of your identity, and so your brain did not let you remember yourself until you also recalled your language. The same does not appear to carry over to reading.”

Bucky bit his lip, and looked away, ashamed.

A strong grip on his jaw turned him around to face her. “No. Do not be ashamed. They took you from yourself, but there is no shame in the journey to recover it.”

“I don't feel like I'm ever going to get it back.”

“It might be difficult. I cannot say for certain I ever recovered who I was, but I did become who I am. You may not be the same person, but you can become a person. There is no shame in it. Now. I think you have been trussed up quite enough. I will take you back to your room, and you will read. And I will come visit you, and we will talk in Russian, and drink tea. Yes?”

Bucky found himself grinning despite himself at her confidence that her orders would be obeyed. “I'd like that.”

xxx

Steve watched as Clint showed Bea around the Avenger's main living quarters, talking rapidly in ASL with the boy, who looked like everything he'd ever dreamed about was coming true. Tony had gone to go sulk in his lab, and Bruce had gone to his private rooms to calm down, which was probably for the best. Steve was still worried about Bucky, but if anyone knew about reprogramming, it was Natasha. She was more than capable, even if part of Steve burned at the thought of her helping Bucky instead of him.

“I can't express how much this means to my brother,” Ace told him, watching the two interact with stars in their eyes. “He's always felt a little left out, even among other mutants. We do spend time at the local community center with an all-deaf children's group, but it's not the same. He's got it hard, being a mutant and being trans, and then being able to understand people's thoughts but not having anyone to talk to except for me. He gets lonely sometimes.”

Steve was amazed at how open Ace was about their brother apparently being transgender. Many of the other Avengers would probably be surprised that Steve even knew the meaning of the word, but it wasn't like the concept had only been around since he'd been on the ice. They hadn't had as many good words for it, but Steve had done his research, and alternate sexualities and presentations had been one of the first things he'd looked up, once he'd heard about how much things had changed. He probably shouldn't be surprised at Ace's frankness, since they were non-binary, but no matter how much he read, it was still a pleasant surprise to see someone actually putting into practice all the things he'd read about.

“I actually didn't know Clint was deaf for a long time. He's very private about it. I didn't know if it was appropriate for me to try to learn ASL since he really doesn't use it very much when he's around us as a group. I do try to speak slowly and make sure there's good lighting, and speak up enough for the hearing aids to pick up my words, but I try not to treat him differently than everyone else.”

“That's good,” Ace said, “He's still a person, just with different difficulties. If he doesn't want to speak ASL with you than you probably shouldn't try to force it, but if you really want to learn, I'd ask him.”

Steve nodded. “I never learned ASL growing up, but it probably would have been helpful. I was completely deaf in my left ear. I could hear okay out of my right one, if I was looking at someone. Between what I did hear and what their lips were doing, I managed okay. I was – well, I am a bit stubborn. I figured I could get by without it.”

Ace nodded. “Bea could talk mind to mind with everyone if that's what he wanted. But he likes to give people their privacy. He usually won't talk to them if they don't know ASL, or if I'm translating for him. He's got an interpreter for school, though we're thinking about enrolling him at Xavier's. They're at so much of a risk of being targeted for violence though, and he's been through enough. Bea's not sure he wants to go, but public school is it's own nightmare.”

“Pepper could probably recommend a private tutor.”

“I – actually hadn't thought about that. I don't know if he'd like that either, but maybe that way he could get one on one time with teachers who can actually speak to him. I'll look into it. Thanks.”

Steve was just about to suggest that maybe Ace bring their brother by the Tower more often, when Natasha stalked up next to him. She looked displeased, but if she was back perhaps that meant that Bucky had been settled in alright.

“Steve. We need to talk.”

Ace stood, and said, “I'll let you two be alone. We're probably going to head out after this, unless you think Bucky will want to see me?”

Natasha eyed them coolly, “I think he will be fine.”

Acelain shrugged, “Alright. I'll be in for our regular appointment in a few days then.”

Natasha directed Steve down the hall and into a room that Steve knew was soundproofed. Apparently she didn't want to be overheard. He braced himself, not knowing if he was about to get a physical or verbal thrashing, but certain it would be at least one of them.

He wasn't wrong.

“Your handling of the situation today was downright abysmal, Steve.”

“I'm sorry,” he said automatically, though he wasn't sure what else he should have done.

“Taking a person obviously having a flashback, allowing him to be sedated against his will, dragging him off to a room where people are arguing about his level of care, letting a teenage empath manipulate his emotions? Seriously Steve, are you _trying_ to make things worse?”

“I -” He didn't know what to say. Really, Natasha was right. There wasn't much of an excuse. Everything had happened so fast, he'd panicked. Everyone seemed to have a different idea of how to handle the situation, and Steve had been so worried, so angry...still. There was no excuse.

“Everything has been taken from him Steve. You understand that?”

“I – well. I'm trying.” He'd read the file. That wasn't the same though.

“He needs things to do. I'm not saying you should just let him have free run of the Tower. He's still unstable. But he needs the chance to prove to himself he can trust himself, or his new discovery of self is going to splinter. He needs things to _do_ Steve. He's not going to develop just sitting in that cell all the time. He needs privacy to figure things back out again. That means sexually, as well as anything else. Especially after what they did to his presentation.”

“Oh.” Steve honestly hadn't thought about that. He didn't think anyone else had, either. Of course Bucky would want to – just thinking about it made Steve blush, and his pheromones rage. He shoved his biology down sharply. “I was thinking – after Bruce clears his health and Tony says the arm is safe I. I wanted to get him out of here. I think. I don't think it's good, being here. But he doesn't seem to like me, and I don't want to force him to live with me.”

“I don't think it's a matter of liking you Steve. I didn't have anyone who was to me what you are to him. It's probably painful for him to be around you. But he'll come around. As soon as he lets you, you should go talk to him.”

She took a deep sniff, and said, “And getting some better scent blockers will probably help a great deal. You stink.”

Steve sighed, and wondered if Bruce could make him some scent blockers that actually worked.

xxx

Bucky had read more books in the last three weeks than he remembered reading in his entire life. Of course, that didn't really mean much since he only remembered his previous life in bits and pieces, but still. He'd read every book Natasha had given him, and when Acelain had learned he was trying to learn to read English, they had brought him a stack of children's books of varying reading difficulties. Bea had even brought his own favorite book, _And Tango Makes Three_ , which Bucky had read at least ten times now.

It still rattled him that he was living in a world where a book like that was actually in print, on kid's bookshelves. He loved it, and at the same time, it was jarring. It was like everything he even thought he knew was wrong, because this new world full of metal and plastic and fake smiles was so far removed from everything he'd grown up with he couldn't relate even when he remembered who he was.

He'd started talking to Steve, too. It was nerve-wracking, moving towards completely terrifying, but he did it anyway. He wanted to get better, get out of this cell. He knew that he'd once seen it as a sort of safety net, keeping people safe from him, but now it was just a prison. He wanted to see the sunlight again, get out and stretch his legs. He also wanted the arm _off,_ but it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon. Supposedly Stark was looking for a way to remove it without compromising Bucky's body, but he was of the mind that it was probably for the best just to gut the existing arm and re-build it as much as possible.

Bucky didn't like that.

Yes, it would be nice to have a second working arm again. He'd seen the designs Stark had drawn up, he'd even picked one. But - the weapon made him uncomfortable. It was his arm, but it was also the asset's arm. It was something that had been grafted onto him by people who had no other purpose in mind than to cause him pain, and that grated on him.

Part of what made it worse was the fact that he knew if it was Stark's arm, the man would have been tinkering with it near constantly. Even if it had been grafted onto him, Stark would have found a way to redesign it and make it his own, probably by painting it bright red and gold. Whereas Bucky didn't even want to think about it, didn't want to look at it, much less try to find a way to make it his own again. And that shamed him. Wasn't he strong enough? Couldn't he look at what had been done to him, accept it, try to become better?

But the answer was no, not yet. And that ate him.

He'd had his therapy session yesterday, and Steve had already visited him today, and it wasn't the usual day that Bruce did lab work, so he was startled when a woman in a business suit and heels, with crackling orange hair came to stand in front of his cell. He put his book down and stood, coming over to the glass to observe her. So he was curious. What was the worst that could happen? He was already locked up.

“Sargent Barnes. It's nice to finally meet you. My name is Pepper Potts, I'm the current CEO of Stark Industries, and I've been helping to arrange your care here.”

Bucky considered making a smart remark about his 'care,' but since he wasn't in a real prison, and he _was_ getting counseling and had a doctor and an engineer who weren't actually trying to control him attempting to figure out what mess had been made of his body, he kept his mouth shut. Instead he sniffed the air discretely. Everyone these days seemed to wear some kind of scent blocker. Apparently they were far more common and inexpensive than they had been during the war, but Bucky's enhanced sense of smell tended to make up for it. As a result, he could smell the subtle cinnamon of the scent blocker, but also the sharp tang of alpha behind it. She smelled like – fire. The soft burn of a banked fire; not roaring with power, not yet, but smoldering, full of potential.

“It's nice to meet you, ma'am,” he ventured, finding a bit of his Brooklyn drawl. It was hit or miss, pulling things out of his memory, but it made Miss Potts smile, so he figured it worked out alright this time.

“I was wondering how you were feeling today, Sargent.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “Alright, I suppose. And I'm not sure I'm really a Sargent, any more.”

“That's part of what I'd like to talk to you about, if you're willing. I have a tentative meeting scheduled, including myself, Acelain, Sam Wilson, who's a VA veteran counselor and friend of Steve's, if he hasn't told you about him yet, and a lawyer I've hired on your behalf. If you think you're up for it, there are some legal matters I'd like to discuss with you.”

“I. I don't know if I'm stable enough to – make legal decisions.”

“That's part of what we'd like to talk to you about.”

“I. Would Steve be there?”

“Only if you'd like him to be.”

Bucky hesitated, weighing in the amount of people he didn't know against the possibility that being around Steve would make him more uncomfortable. And then adding in the fact that even if he didn't, that was still adding another person to the room. Bucky didn't do well with crowded areas. But maybe Steve would sit next to him and hold his hand. That would be grounding, he thought. And if he didn't feel like saying anything out loud, Acelain could translate.

“Yeah. I. I think I could do that. And yes, Steve. I'd like Steve to be there, please.”

“Alright. We'll go ahead with the meeting in an hour,” she smiled, “I thought having a lot of time to think about it might make it worse.”

“Thank you.” He wasn't sure that even an hour wasn't too long for him to sit there and brood, but at least it wasn't longer than that.

“I'll arrange for someone to come by with some clothes and lunch for you, and I'll see you in an hour, Sargent Barnes.”

He watched her go, and then paced nervously until Steve came by with some clothes. It was – more than a little awkward. But Steve helped him dress in what turned out to be a nice pair of jeans that had an elastic waist instead of a button up or zipper, but still looked decent on him, a soft white cotton undershirt to tuck into them, and a long sleeved blue v-neck sweater to go over top. Steve helped him wrap his arm back up in a more professional looking black fabric sling, and he was given shoes, though they had velcro fastenings instead of laces.

Steve even shaved his face for him, which was something Bucky had been hoping someone would do at some point, since he now had a full beard and didn't like it. But he didn't trust anyone else but Steve to be that close to his throat with a razor. Steve was extremely gentle, lathering up Bucky's face, shaving off the beard gently and firmly. Bucky didn't panic, though it was a near thing. Steve's scent was dull today, buried under the scent of pine, but Bucky could still smell it. He was expecting it to make him more nervous, but it eased his tension instead.

“What the hell are you wearing?” He asked, when Steve was done, and was wiping the rest of the lather off Bucky's face.

“What do you mean?”

“You smell like pine.”

“Oh. Stark gave me a new scent blocker to try.”

“Well. Don't. I think you smell better without it,” Bucky said, trying to be gruff and uninterested, but Steve broke out in a grin anyway.

“You think so?”

“Course Steve. I grew up with that scent. I like it.” He wouldn't admit he'd just blushed, even if someone asked him.

Steve blushed scarlet, and Bucky could smell him more strongly now. Great, he'd just got Steve thinking about all the sex they used to have. And Steve was a fully functioning alpha now, it didn't take him much to get aroused. Steve was a decent guy and probably wouldn't do anything about it, but it was still embarrassing.

“Do you want me to um. Brush your hair and pull it back?” He asked.

Bucky considered it, and then leaned back in the chair, forcing himself to relax. If he could handle Steve putting a razor next to his throat, there was no reason he shouldn't be able to handle a brush through his hair.

“Sure. Make me look respectable Rogers.”

Steve got a worried look on his face, “I'll do what I can Buck, but I'm not a miracle worker.”

Bucky stared at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. Steve grinned. “You have the _worst_ sense of humor.”

“You seem to still appreciate it.”

“Ain't nobody ever accused me of having good taste.”

“I'll say. With how much gunk you used put in your hair?”

“Hey. I looked _fine_ I'll have you know.”

“Uh-huh. You just keep telling yourself that.”

Meanwhile, Steve had been carefully combing Bucky's hair, which was quite tangled since he rarely got the chance to run a brush through it. He was allowed to shower every other day, but he didn't usually do much with his hair, since he only had the one working arm and it wasn't like he was going to go anywhere. Except apparently he was, today, and he appreciated the effort on everyone's behalf to make sure he didn't look like an insane person. He might still _be_ an insane person, but at least he didn't look like it.

Having someone brush his hair was – soothing. Bucky actually felt himself relaxing to the point of nodding off while Steve's gentle hands brushed the back of his neck, the brush going through his hair in strong, steady movements. He was sure Steve kept brushing past when he needed to stop, just running his hands through the strands and caressing Bucky's scalp. It was strangely intimate.

Steve sighed, and scratched Bucky's scalp one last time, and then gathered up all of Bucky's hair into a pile at the top of his head. He twisted it tightly and coiled it into a bun, and then put a hair tie around it, and then a solid black scrunchy on top of that. Steve tilted his head to the side, and then nodded.

“I was just messing around but I actually really like that on you. What do you think?”

Bucky stared at his reflection in the mirror. He still looked a little haggard; it was hell regaining weight with his fussy digestive system and his metabolism, and he still had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, but the tidy hair and clean shaven face went a long way. He actually liked the hair in the bun, too. It made him look a little softer around the edges, which was something they could all benefit from.

“Alright.” Bucky said, breathing out in a deep exhale. “Let's do this.”

xxx

Bucky was immensely glad he hadn't eaten. His stomach was roiling, and he knew if he'd eaten the lunch Pepper had provided, he'd be throwing it up right about now, probably all over someone's very expensive shirt. Steve was right behind him, one hand on his good shoulder, and that was extremely comforting as they navigated the building. Luckily they'd decided to have the meeting on this floor, because Bucky wasn't sure he was feeling up to taking an elevator right now. He was claustrophobic enough in the hallway with Steve. His cell was small, sure, but he felt safe there, as backwards as that seemed. It was out here that he felt exposed, vulnerable.

The meeting itself was being held in a large conference room, with at least double the amount of spaces that they needed at the long table, which gave Bucky some breathing room. The ceiling was high, and while the far wall was lined with windows, they were shaded in a way that Bucky knew it was two-way glass. While that didn't alleviate all his anxieties, at least someone would have to have extremely up to date information if they were going to snipe anyone through the windows. And it was likely the glass was bulletproof, considering how many times the Tower had been attacked. (He'd been reading the news lately to catch up, and he and Steve were going to have _words_ at some point about how Steve threw himself in harm's way constantly.)

There were only four other people in the room. There was Pepper, sitting next to a black man Bucky didn't know, but had vague memories of kicking very hard. The man was probably Sam, since the other two people were a woman in a crisp black business suit and oval glasses who's skin was bright green, and next to her was a sullen looking teenager with a face full of metal piercings and a shock of white hair, neither of whom would fit Pepper's description of the VA vet counselor.

Bucky slid into a chair at the head of the table, which he didn't like all that much, but Steve sat down next to him, and that made him feel a great deal better. Steve found Bucky's hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. He made to pull away, and Bucky closed his fingers down over Steve's own. He didn't want to deal with their relationship right now, hadn't since he'd woken up, but he sure as hell didn't want Steve to let go.

Steve looked shocked, then pleased. The moment stretched after that, becoming a bit awkward as Bucky had no intention of speaking first, or even speaking at all until Acelain got there. He knew he'd been wary of a telepath at first, but Bucky felt in this situation, having someone who would understand what he was thinking without him having to say anything would be extremely helpful. Plus he _knew_ Acelain. They'd been there since before he'd regained himself, and maybe it would hurt Steve to hear that, but it was grounding to have a familiar presence that didn't come with a lot of baggage and background memories.

Pepper saved the moment. “Sargent Barnes, I'd like you to meet Sam Wilson,” she gestured to her right, “Jennifer Walters,” the green woman, “who is an expert in legal cases that involve someone more outside the box, and has successfully represented super-powered individuals, mutants, and a variety of other interests, and Tommy Shepherd,” she gestured lastly to the glowering youth, “who is a young mutant intern with Jennifer.”

Surprisingly, the youth spoke first, “Hey, look, if you're not comfortable with me being here, I can go. I'm way too familiar with a bunch of strangers deciding what to do with you when you've done something they consider to be wrong.”

This confession took Bucky aback, and he found himself mildly curious as to what they young man's story was. He was a mutant...possibly he had also been an asset? He had only interacted with a few mutant assets, but from his conversations with Acelain he had gathered it was apparently a common fate. Regardless, the young man had asked a question. Bucky hesitated – did he really want to speak aloud?

There was an echoed pain in Tommy's eyes that Bucky recognized all too well, so he said roughly, “No, it's fine. You can stay.”

Tommy looked surprised, then resigned. “I'm not actually her intern. I mean I am, but I'm also doing this as community service, so, if you don't want a criminal helping on your case...”

Miss Walters spoke up at this point, “Tommy, you don't have to tell every client your back story, you know. Regardless of what else you are, you're my intern, and you do a damn good job. You don't need to keep putting yourself down.”

“Just getting the truth out there.” Tommy said stubbornly.

Bucky decided he liked him. “You can still stay. It's not like I've got any room to stand on to refuse to have a criminal help represent me, right? Plus, you've been through the system before, so you could help me.”

Tommy muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “More than once,” but then he said louder, “Yeah, okay, if you're sure. Kinda intimidating, working on a case with Captain America involved.”

Steve blushed, predictably.

The door opened, and Acelain entered, looking a bit harried. “Sorry, sorry I'm late. Bea's tutor was late and I wasn't just going to leave him alone.”

“How is he?” Bucky asked.

Ace brightened a bit, coming to take a seat between Bucky and Miss Walters. “Good. Really good, actually. The new tutors have been working out really well. A lot of them have been learning ASL so they can speak to him. He asks about you, too. Wants to come visit the tower again sometime.”

“We'd love to have him.” Steve said honestly. Bucky could see he wasn't the only person taken with the boy. It was really nice, having someone that young and innocent looking up to them. It made Bucky feel just a little bit more human.

Miss Walters cleared her throat, and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but we really should get down to business.”

“Right. Sorry. Please, go ahead.”

“As you may or may not know, Sargent Barnes, Miss Potts has filed a suit on your behalf. We are seeking both a full pardon, and a reinstatement of your veteran's benefits, with compensation for disability for injuries sustained in combat, and benefits accrued during your time as a POW.”

Bucky could only stare. “You – what?”

Pepper answered him, “Tony has a lot of pull with the government right now. We helped Steve get his benefits back when he was reinstated into duty, and we want to help you get yours as well. Tony has – issues – with those in military service being denied their benefits.”

“But I -” he looked warily at Tommy, the only one here who might not know he was a murderer, “But I _killed_ people.”

“That's why we're here though,” Tommy answered him, “You murdered people, okay. But _why_ did you murder them? Was it self defense? Did they try to make you do things you didn't want to do? Did actually make you do things you didn't want to do? It makes a difference. Super-powered people are at an extremely huge risk of being forced into use as weapons. Mutants even more so.”

Tommy shared a look with Acelain.

“I – it wasn't. Wasn't self defense.” He mumbled, unable to admit that he'd been controlled in front of all these people, even if it was true.

Miss Walters asked Acelain instead. “Mx. Zavala, you have been responsible for much of Sargent Barnes' recovery. In your professional opinion as a psychic therapist, do you believe that Sargent Barnes was responsible for his actions during the Project Insight incident?”

“He most certainly was not. Sargent Barnes wasn't capable of refusing at that time, nor any of the times that the Winter Soldier had been contracted previously.”

“In your opinion is Sargent Barnes capable of standing trial, should such a testimony become necessary?”

Bucky blanched. He didn't want to stand trial. Not that he thought he didn't deserve it, but he didn't know if he could even manage to stand in front of that many people without having some kind of meltdown. Even this small group of six people was pushing it, and he knew a few of them. Standing in front of strangers being asked about his time with HYDRA...Bucky thought he might be sick.

“No, I believe he is currently not capable of doing so. I would strongly recommend against him being called to the stand.”

Miss Walters nodded, as if she had been expecting this. “And if I were to recommend to the court that Sargent Barnes be declared mentally unfit for trial, would you back this recommendation?”

“I would.”

“And if such a recommendation is processed, the court will want to appoint a guardian for Sargent Barnes. Are there any recommendations?”

“I nominate Sam Wilson.” Pepper said. “He has experience with veterans, a clean military service record, assisted in bringing about the resolution of Project Insight, and has been briefed on the Winter Soldier's origins, missions, and control methods. He has volunteered to provide therapy and legal support. Stark Industries is willing to help Sargent Barnes manage his finances, disburse his disability benefits, and create investments for him until such a time that Sargent Barnes is capable of doing so himself.”

“If you were to be called upon by the court, Mr. Wilson, would you be willing and able to do so?”

“I would.”

“And you, Captain Steven Rogers,” Miss Walters continued, “If you were to be called upon as a character witness for Sargent Barnes, would you be willing and able to do so?”

“Yes, of course.”

“What – what is happening here?” Bucky asked, floored.

Tommy actually looked happy now. “Jennifer's setting the ground work to get you pardoned, or at least keep you out of jail. We should be able to restore your veteran's benefits too. You were a POW for what, seventy years?”

“I -” Bucky didn't know what to say.

“It's gonna be ok, Buck.” Steve said, squeezing his hand.

“We're not out of the woods yet, Mr. Barnes, but I'm confident that we'll be able to arrange a private hearing, and that we won't need to call you to the stand.” Miss Walters assured him. “I am positive about the outcomes of the case. With your permission, I will file this tomorrow, and will keep you updated on its progress. In such a time that Sam Wilson is appointed your legal guardian, I will make sure you understand your rights under the law, and what he is responsible for.”

“Thank you.” Bucky said, feeling absolutely overwhelmed.

“I think we have everything we need. We'll be in touch Pepper. Let's go, Tommy.”

She gathered her papers and stood up, and Tommy followed suit. When he stood, Bucky could see the gleam of a metal tracking anklet around his left ankle, peeking out from under his jeans. Tommy caught him looking, but didn't say anything. He just gave Bucky a swift salute, and followed her out.

“I'd like to go back to my room now.” Bucky said, feeling completely shaken up over what had just happened.

“I'll take you back.”

Sam spoke as they stood up to go, “We should talk sometime if you're feeling up to it. Acelain says you're doing a lot better, and could probably benefit from some counseling. I'm not a psychiatrist, but I'd be happy to talk with you. I can't pretend to know everything you've gone through, but I can relate to some of it at least, and I promise whatever you have to say won't offend me.”

“Thank you. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I'll be there.”

Bucky let Steve take him back to his cell, but when Steve turned to go, Bucky grabbed his arm. “Stay. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

The glass door closed, but it was more a precaution at this point than an actual barrier, especially since Steve was on this side of the glass with him. They laid down on Bucky's tiny mattress together, and Bucky put his head against Steve's chest, nose right next to his scent glands, and just – breathed in the scent of him. Steve held him loosely, barely breathing. It was obvious he wasn't trying to push Bucky into anything.

“You can hold me, you know. I'm not gonna break.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Steve.”

“M'kay.” Steve tightened his grip, shifting around and pulling Bucky closer to him. He pressed his face into Bucky's hair and made a soft, pleased sound.

Bucky couldn't be sure, because he was more than half-way asleep already, but he was pretty damn sure he heard Steve say, “Love you.”

Sneaky bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my life's blood!! :D
> 
> I am not hard of hearing or deaf. My husband is hard of hearing in one ear, but generally pretends he can get by without it. (I kind of channeled his feeling through Steve's comments.) My sister is also hard of hearing, but she copes by always making sure she faces someone, and watching all her shows with subtitles. She grew up HoH but wasn't ever actually diagnosed (my family sucks,) and basically taught herself to lip read from the time she learned to talk. 
> 
> That being said, I have done a ton of research, spoken to some deaf people, (mostly online,) and tried my very best to educate myself. However! If anything seems offensive or is just plain wrong, please let me know!


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS, it's the last chapter!! D: I can't believe I made it!!
> 
> Lots of stuff happens in this chapter. A lot of transgender issues, Bucky working through their gender, some arm surgery, some sappy romance. I love this chapter. :3
> 
> Warnings: Nothing that hasn't been in the fic thus far? Some medical experimentation, gender issues.

Bucky woke up curled around Steve. It was the least violent awakening he'd had since – well. Since as far back as he could remember. There were hazy half-memories of being piled up for warmth in the snow, with Steve at the center radiating heat like an oven but that had been the whole group of Commandos, breaking protocol and presentation discomfort to seek as much warmth as they could in the harsh conditions of the field. He had even hazier memories before that, of being the one Steve was curled around for warmth, when he was so sick he couldn't even breathe, couldn't regulate his temperature worth shit. But nothing like this.

Steve was solid and warm and smelled of alpha, and Bucky woke up slowly, swimming through a haze of warm lazy heat to the surface of consciousness. He sighed, and pushed himself closer to Steve, pressing the ever-aching join of metal against the heat radiating off Steve's skin. He hurt much less this morning than he usually did. Either he was going to have to get a heated blanket, or sleep with Steve every night, because he felt – better. Not completely better, not like someone had come down from heaven and fixed everything that was wrong with his fucked up head, but like he could stand to get up, and go on with his life. Like he didn't automatically want to reach for the nearest sharp edge and end it all. He didn't hate himself quite as much as he had before. Even the arm was bearable, though Bucky still wished he could take it off, or at least make it work. Something to indicate that he had a choice in the matter.

And then he was aware of an entirely new phenomenon. He was – hard. He hadn't ever been aroused. Well, obviously he had, because he remembered having sex before, but it was a disconnected memory. Until today, nothing down there had even given an indication that it still worked, aside from some cramps in his abdomen, which could have been the residual aches from his sterilization surgery for all he knew. There'd been very little slick, and he hadn't gotten an erection at all. The Soldier was an alpha, smelled like an alpha, acted like an alpha, but the Soldier didn't have sex. They had other, more subtle assets for that. The Soldier infiltrated when necessary, but always took out its target before copulation was achieved. Ideally, before its partner noticed that it wasn't hard.

But now, he was. And he had absolutely no idea what to do about it. Steve smelled – really good. Clearly his body remembered all the sex they used to have, which, if Steve's general embarrassment was anything to go by, had been a lot. But Bucky didn't remember it, not really. He certainly didn't remember enough to know why they'd never bonded. Sure, it'd been illegal, but that wasn't something that would have stopped a stubborn Steve. He might have agreed to hide it, if he thought it would put Bucky in danger, but he'd never agree to not bond just because it wasn't legal.

Bucky must have had someone else, or Steve had, or these feelings he was having were new, or _something_. Because they weren't in a relationship, hadn't ever been more than fuck buddies, if Bucky's memories and the history books could be believed. So he most definitely couldn't do what he wanted to do, which was rub all over Steve and see if his body remembered how to get off. So he carefully extracted himself from Steve's grip, even though he wanted to do anything but, and got up, much less stiffly than he would have on a normal morning.

He couldn't leave the cell, so he went to the sink and brushed his teeth with his finger and the supplied toothpaste (toothbrushes made excellent shivs, and they hadn't left any in the cell), rinsed his mouth out and spat, and then headed to the relatively open area of the middle of the cell and threw himself into a brutal work-out. By the time Steve woke up, he was drenched in sweat and aching all over, and his hard-on was long since gone.

xxx

Something was wrong with his body. He wasn't sure what, exactly, but – something was wrong. He stood in the bathroom, having just gotten out of the shower, and stared at himself in the mirror. His body had changed from what he'd known before, but it hadn't changed all that much from when he'd first gained awareness after the asset had receded. If anything, he looked better. He'd managed to put on some weight, now that Bruce had determined it was safe to give him a larger variety of foods, and they'd been filling him as full of calories as he could stand. It turned out his metabolism was boosted enough to match Steve's on a good day, though Tony theorized at least part of that was due to the arm and how hard his body had to work to fight off infection and metal poisoning, and supply the muscles that held it up.

So he had hard abs and defined pecs, and layers of muscles along his shoulders and back. His leg muscles were thick and powerful, and he was overall in decent shape, as much as he could be without access to better work out equipment or a track, but something was – wrong. He couldn't quite figure it out. He put a finger on the mirror and traced along the reflection of his jaw – such a hard edge, the stubble grown out like it always did if he didn't shave every day. It was just – so masculine. He looked at his shoulders, and his hips, and that stubble and he just felt – wrong. His chest was getting hairy too, the hair filling in in a line down his middle, and along his pecs. HYDRA had always kept him waxed before, so they could get to the arm easier, and attach any medical equipment to him without hair in the way. It was discomforting, seeing so much _hair_ everywhere. And of course he had dark hair, and alphogyn thrumming through his veins along with the testosterone and androgen of a healthy male, and that just made him hairier and made that hair even darker. It didn't curl; it was just thick and dark and _everywhere_. He looked like a werewolf.

For that matter – standing there in a towel – he wasn't sure how he felt about his dick either. He unwrapped the towel with his good hand and let it drop to the floor. He stared at his dick in the mirror, and then looked down at it. It was – a penis. It was obviously _his_ penis, by way of the fact that it was very much attached to him, but Bucky didn't have any feelings about it. Weren't guys usually attached to their genitals? Bucky seemed to remember being very fond of his before, when he'd had sex. And he definitely remembered enjoying Steve's. But now it – well, it was just a thing that was attached to him, that didn't even really work most of the time. Though that would apparently change, as he got better and remembered more of himself. He'd had an extremely awkward conversation with Natasha about the importance of masturbation in the process of rediscovery, and how to allow oneself to take back what HYDRA had taken from one. But Bucky hadn't masturbated yet, and he'd only gotten hard the one time, with Steve. So apparently he wasn't there yet.

Maybe that's all it was, this strange body awareness. Maybe his sexuality was creeping back into him like a second puberty, and he just needed some time to get used to everything again. Maybe...maybe that's all it was. But for now, the cut of his jaw was still too masculine, and he hated the hair on his face. He hated the hair on his chest, too, but while he was probably going to be able to get Steve to shave him, he doubted Steve would wax his chest, too.

He got dressed slowly, and then stared at the drab picture he made in the mirror. He wanted – something. Something else. He didn't know what. He just didn't – he didn't look pretty. And that was a strange, new feeling. Wanting to look pretty. But – he did. He examined the feeling in his head, rolled it around and tried it on and yes. Yes, he wanted to look pretty. But he wasn't pretty. He was ragged and maybe handsome, if you were into the unkempt, rugged type, but he definitely wasn't pretty. Why wasn't he pretty?

So he left the bathroom, and Steve was outside waiting, because he wasn't allowed to leave his cell by himself. Steve was sketching, for which Bucky was grateful. Apparently Steve hadn't done any art at all since finding himself alone in the new century, and that had made Bucky sad. He'd looked forward to looking at Steve's drawings. Steve had a way of seeing the world that was just different than everyone else, and looking at Steve's art had always made him happy. He'd told Steve as much, when he'd found out there weren't any paintings or sketches, and Steve had bought a sketchbook the very same day.

“Do you think I'm pretty?” He asked. He hadn't meant to say that out loud, but it had lept from his lips without warning.

Steve looked up, seemingly startled by the question. “Um.”

“Nothing. Never mind. Look. Can you shave my beard please?”

“Yeah Buck, of course. Do you want me to put your hair up, too?”

On anyone else it would have sounded condescending. But Steve was earnest, sincere. “Yeah. I'd like that. Do you have any other colored scrunchies?”

“I'm sure I can get some if Stark doesn't already have them. What color do you want?”

“...yellow? Like a pastel yellow? Or maybe sunshine...I don't know, you're good with colors. Something that'll look nice on me.”

Steve smiled. “I think yellow would look really nice on you.”

Bucky actually smiled back. Trust Steve to take something that was nerve-wracking and terrifying and undefined, and have Steve make it something wonderful and beautiful and positive. There might not be a lot he could count on in this new world, but he could count on Steve. He didn't know why he'd ever been afraid to see him before. He had no more desire to hurt Steve than he had to become the asset again. Steve was – Steve was _everything_. He just didn't know how to tell him that.

xxx

The next time Acelain came for therapy, they bought Bucky books on gender and alternate presentation. Bucky read them all the same day, devouring one after the other. There were so many new ideas. Not that people hadn't had alternate presentations before, hadn't cross-dressed or acted a certain way, but now there were terms for everything, support groups. Feeling like something other than your original gender wasn't a mental illness any more, though the laws on changing gender legally varied from state to state. There were still problems, holes in the system, especially for people who didn't feel like they were one gender or the other – there was no legal distinction for 'other,' currently, at least not in the US.

But things were – possible now, that had never been possible before. Things weren't perfect for transgender people, there were still acts of violence, people were still brutally murdered, and sometimes justice was denied, all based on the assumption that the person had somehow been tricked because the other's genitals didn't match what they'd been expecting, as if that somehow excused their crime. And that made Bucky both angry and sad. Hadn't they fought a war for freedom? Fought so that people wouldn't be oppressed, wouldn't be judged because of how they were born or who they were? But hatred still lingered, and sometimes Bucky wondered how someone like Steve dealt with it all, knowing he couldn't save everyone, couldn't help everyone.

But it wasn't all bad. There were so many good things now. He and Steve – they could get married now, if they wanted. That didn't mean that Bucky was going to run right out and propose, but just the idea that they _could_ , that they wouldn't get arrested, that Steve wouldn't get court-martialed. It was just amazing. You could be openly gay in the military now, something that had been unheard of in Bucky's day. Even the suspicion of anything other than rigid alpha male behavior was enough to get yourself a blue ticket and be sent home. There was still a long way to go, but Bucky clung to the notion that things _could_ and _had_ changed, for the better.

Bucky wasn't sure what he wanted, as far as everything went. There was so much, and it was all so new. But he wasn't so sure he wanted to be 'he' any more. He wanted – he wanted to be _pretty_. He thought he might like to try on some women's clothes, feel the cloth of a skirt on his legs. Wax his chest again, and wax his legs too, and see how they looked all smooth. Maybe even try on some makeup. How would the bright red of a lipstick tube look against his lips? Probably terrible right now, they were chapped all to hell. And he wasn't likely to get makeup right now, or the equipment to wax himself, or any of that.

But he could get multicolored scrunchies, and he could ask for chap stick, so that he could fix his lips and be ready for when he _could_ try on lipstick. And he could – maybe try some different pronouns. See how they fit. Singular “they” and “spivak” pronouns seemed to be the most popular. The spivak pronouns seemed intimidating, at least to Bucky. He'd try his best to use them if he met someone who wanted them to be used, but it was already such a large step trying out new pronouns that he thought he'd start with 'they,' first.

The first real step was to think of himself as they. Themself. Think of themself as they.

It was harder then he'd – then they'd thought. Completely changing the perception of themself, just because they'd decided that they wanted to. But it felt – right. It still felt awkward and new and frightening, but right. Better, at least. To think of themself as they instead of he, it soothed a part of themself that they hadn't even known had been uncomfortable. Bucky wasn't a 'he.'

It was the first and biggest decision they'd made since coming back to awareness.

xxx

“We're ready to replace your arm.” Tony told him the next day. “If you're ready?”

“Um.” Bucky stared at their dead arm, and envisioned ripping it off. “Yeah. Steve's gonna be there, right?”

“Sure. JARVIS will let him know to meet us there. Let's go, Red Scare.”

Bucky followed Tony through the hall, nervously. Tony didn't seem to be concerned, walking and talking about something that Bucky couldn't really be bothered to follow, as they were thinking about the procedure instead.

“Why aren't you afraid of me?” They asked.

“Oh I am. I've seen that video footage. You're terrifying. But Jarvis is prepped with enough tranquilizers to knock out an elephant, much less you. And besides, I talk when I'm nervous. Well, I talk all the time. But I talk more when I'm nervous. I once pissed off a god just by talking at him.”

Bucky didn't reply. They had no idea what Tony was talking about. Maybe Steve would know. They followed Stark, scratching nervously at the join between their shoulder and arm. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Were they really ready for this? Shouldn't they have had more prep time? What if they freaked out? What if they had an episode, or flashback? They weren't very far along in their therapy. What if they sat down in that chair and everything came back?

They couldn't do this.

“I think -”

“Bucky!”

Steve rushed to their side. “Hey, Buck. You look pretty pale. Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sure, Steve. I'm fine. Not going to jump right into major surgery or anything.”

“Actually,” Tony said, “most of the surgery is going to be fairly minor. If you want to take a look at this diagram, you can see that Bucky's got a socket in his shoulder -”

“Their.”

“Say what now?”

“Their. I use 'they' pronouns.”

Stark looked genuinely shocked. “Since when?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well. No. I mean. Well, yeah, sort of. Seeing as how when we got you you were a mess of pheromones and couldn't even speak English. It's a little surprising.”

“Well I do speak English now.”

“Yeah, but – oh whatever. Look, the point is, Bucky's got a socket in his – in _their_ shoulder, yes, yes, we're very PC here, Bruce I can hear you scowling at me – and we can basically just swap out the old arm for a new one. I've got it right here if you wanna see it?”

Stark gestured excitedly to a table in the middle of the workroom, which held a shiny metal arm on a pedestal cobbled together from what looked like assorted junk from the conference room that the work room had once been – books, pieces of shelves and chairs, and an assortment of plastic pieces. It looked almost like art, laying there on display, reflecting the rather dim lighting from overhead. Most of the overhead lights had been turned off, and there were various work lamps set up, most of the illumination coming from monitors and holographic displays. It was unlike the harsh medical lighting of HYDRA, enough for Bucky to be able to detach themself from it.

“What about the dual presentation? Is that going to cause problems?” Steve asked Bruce earnestly.

Dr. Banner took off his glasses and cleaned them while he spoke, as he seemed often to do when facing possible confrontation, “Actually, now that the hormone chips have been removed, Bucky's presentations seem to be quite stable. We may need to adjust the hormone mix in the arm, but I've already made some adjustments to the new one, and I think that actually, they are going to be just fine in that regard.”

“Really?”

“Dual presentation is still a new field, extremely new, in fact, so I can't be certain. But all current facts point to that, yes.”

Bucky scratched the back of their head and looked away. “I suppose something had to go right eventually.” They eyed the arm, laying there innocently on the table. “Let's get this done.”

“Right. Uh, yeah, so...I get the impression from your file you don't like chairs. How do you feel about laying down?”

“It's – okay, I guess. Are you going to strap me down?”

“Um. Well. I dunno. Are you liable to punch me in the face if I touch your arm if you're not?”

Bucky grit their teeth. “I can control myself.”

Stark looked skeptical, and Bucky couldn't really blame him.

“Fine. Steve can hold me down.”

“Bucky, I don't know if I -”

“You'd keep me from hurting someone, wouldn't you, Steve?”

“Well, yeah, but I'm not really comfortable with -”

“Just sit with me. And stop me if I try to hurt someone. And maybe -” Bucky turned towards Steve and away from Stark, even though the other man could probably hear them, “maybe hold my hand so I remember where I am.”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Or you could just let us help you,” called a voice from the hall.

Bucky turned, and there was Pepper, who had her arms crossed and was looking pointedly at Tony, and Acelain there with their brother. Bea waved, and made the 'help' sign again, from himself to Bucky, and then smiled.

“You here to keep me calm?” Bucky said, and then _thought_ it at the boy, since the lighting was poor and Bea probably couldn't read their lips.

Bea raised a fisted hand and knocked it twice against the air. That was yes, Bucky knew. They were learning lots of things, including beginner's ASL. They couldn't do much besides sign their name and a few basic things, but they knew that one.

Bucky raised their hand to their mouth, fingers straight and together, and then extended it forward and down towards Bea. _Thank you_. Another relatively easy sign, and worth learning, by the look on Bea's face.

“I thought we were done doing emergency workshop surgery?

“Bruce, did you tell on me? JARVIS? Who told on me?”

Bruce wasn't looking up at Tony, and was instead fiddling on his phone. Bucky would put money on him telling Pepper. JARVIS was Tony's AI, and as creeped out as Bucky was by it, it stood to reason that the AI was completely loyal to Tony. Though Pepper was in charge of the company...so Bucky wasn't really sure how that worked. But it wasn't that important.

“I think that if we're going to be doing surgery, Tony, at the very least you should have called someone. So I took care of that for you. Bucky, are you alright with Acelain and Bea being here?”

Bucky wasn't sure how to tell her that they were starting to feel very claustrophobic with so many people in one room. They were fine with Bea, the kid wasn't threatening at all, he practically exuded calm. But even having Ace here was – well, Bucky didn't want people to see them like this, vulnerable. And there was nothing more vulnerable then literally having one of his arms taken off.

Luckily, Ace picked up on it. Out of courtesy, they angled their body towards their brother and signed as they spoke. Bucky thought it was very nice that Acelain did that, even when they weren't speaking to Bea. “Would you like to go get something to eat, Miss Potts? Or perhaps I could escort you to your next meeting?”

Pepper understood immediately, for which Bucky was imminently grateful. “Of course, Acelain. We have an excellent tea shop on the 33rd floor. Locally owned, hand made teas from all over the world. It's really quite stunning.”

“That sounds excellent. Let me know when you're ready to go, Bea?” Acelain said, tapping the side of their head.

Bea smiled, and put his left hand up in a fist, then took his right hand curled up, but with the first two fingers extended, and moved them in a clockwise spiral up to tap on the extended left fist. Bucky didn't know that sign, but it seemed to be some kind of affirmation, because Acelain gave their brother a hug, and then exited with Miss Potts.

Bea came over next to Bucky and held out both fists, pushed them down once, and arched his brows at Bucky in a question, then pointed to Bucky's flesh arm.

“Yeah, you can touch me.” Bucky said, guessing at the meaning. They also thought it, in case Bea couldn't read their lips this close. Bucky wasn't sure how the lighting would affect lip reading at this close of a distance, but it was better to be respectful.

Bea smiled, and touched his hand to Bucky's bare arm. Bucky immediately felt calmer. Not drugged calm, like last time, but all the extra anxiety drained away. Bucky made the thank you gesture again, exaggerating it, because they were _very_ grateful.

“JARVIS, can we put up subtitles or something? I'd like pint-size here to be able to understand what I'm saying, especially if he's keeping the Terminator calm.”

“Of course, sir.”

Bucky startled a little, but not too much, since there was a haze of calm around them, when holographic boxes appeared beside each of their faces. Bea looked at them with interest. Words appeared in the air as JARVIS said,

“Is this acceptable, young master Bea?”

Bea grinned, and made several quick signs that Bucky couldn't follow, but JARVIS translated, and a moment later words scrolled in the air next to the boy. “That's so cool! I didn't know you could do that.”

“Master Stark began prototyping the feature when Hawkeye informed us of his disability. He insisted all members of the Avengers feel comfortable in the Tower.”

Bea clearly thought this was the coolest thing ever, but Tony blushed. “You're making me sound like a sap or something JARVIS, cut it out. Don't we have work to do?”

Fear shot through Bucky again, but quickly melted away with a slight furrow of Bea's eyebrows. Bea raised the hand that wasn't touching Bucky to his forehead, flat, with the first finger touching his forehead, and then moved it out slightly, then made the letters 'O' and 'K.' The subtitles translated, “It's going to be okay.”

Bucky let Tony show them where to lay down, which was what looked like a conference table that had been re-purposed with sheets and a pillow for their head. There was a stool next to it, which Steve took, and Bruce brought over another for Bea to sit so he could continue keeping Bucky calm through the procedure.

“It's probably best that you don't look while we're doing this,” Tony told them. “I'm going to be as careful as I can, but I'm not promising it's going to be pleasant.”

Bruce brought up diagrams now. “It's important that you know exactly what we're going to do. We're going to replace your old arm with a new one of Tony's design; you remember you looked over those designs earlier?”

Bucky nodded.

“This arm will be a lot lighter, but still have most of the function of the old one.”

“Yeah, and none of that old layered-on-tech from the fifties shit. This is 100% modern baby. No tracking devices, nothing designed to shock or hurt you.” Tony cut in.

“There will be two hormone cartridges, like your old arm, to help regulate your hormone intake. Since you've stabilized now, I don't want to mess with the system that's working.”

Bucky nodded again. They hadn't even known they'd _had_ all that in their arm. It wasn't like the technicians had consulted them before they'd welded it on them. Or told them what it could do to hurt them. There was just always the threat of violence, of pain if there wasn't co-operation, until there was nothing Bucky wouldn't do to prevent that from happening.

“If you're doing well with the new arm, we'd like to go back in in a few weeks and operate. I can provide sedatives. We'd like to make some improvements to the way the arm is currently anchored to your system. There's not a lot we can do, but we can grind down some of the edges on the metal that are irritating your muscles and joints, and we can greatly improve the neural net, which will allow for greater feeling in the new arm and less pain.”

“I want to do it now.”

“What?” Bruce looked shocked.

“I want to do it now. Get it over with.”

“I-uh.”

Bruce and Tony exchanged a look.

“Okay. Well, I'm going to go prep the operating room I guess, while Tony replaces the arm. We'll need to have everyone go through a sterilization process before they come through to the surgery. And it's going to take all day.”

“I don't care. I want it gone.”

Tony took a deep breath, and then straightened up a little. “Okay. Alright. Who doesn't want to perform major surgery? Let's get started. JARVIS, make sure someone brings me some damn espresso.” Then to Bea, “You up for sitting in on major surgery kid?”

Bea nodded, and made a series of gestures. “Nothing I haven't seen before,” JARVIS translated.

Again, Bucky wondered exactly what the kid had been through. Tony seemed to be thinking similar thoughts, because he went a bit pale at first, but then managed to shake it off. “Alright then. Let's get started.”

Bucky didn't remember much of the procedure. Apparently that was normal; between the drugs and the flashbacks and the stress and their general instability, it was apparently surprising that they remembered anything about it at all. As it was, they generally just remembered the pressure of Steve's hand and the floating words in the air as Bea distracted them by talking with his hands and keeping Bucky's gaze away from where Tony was literally up to his elbows in Bucky's chest.

It hadn't hurt – that was the weirdest thing. Between the drugs and Bea's power, Bucky didn't feel anything at all, other then a floating, disconnected warmth. In some ways that made it worse – Bucky knew pain, was used to pain. Having surgery without feeling pain was entirely different to them. They wished they'd been put out for the procedure, but since Stark and Banner were messing around with their brain and the neural net connecting them to their arm, it made sense that Bucky had to be awake for that, even if they didn't like it much.

In the end, Bucky was glad they'd done it, but hoped they'd never have to do it again. Their arm, chest and shoulder were a mess, and though Bruce had done up the stitches nicely, Bucky would likely have some new scars. Everything sort of ached right now, which Bucky preferred to the fuzzy floating, though it had certainly kept them from freaking out during the surgery for which everyone was grateful. The new arm was deactivated and in a sling still, and would stay that way until Bucky healed and Stark was convinced that the support structure on Bucky's bones hadn't been damaged.

But the best thing about – well, about everything, really, though that could be the drugs talking, was that Bucky was in Steve's bed. After they hadn't murdered anyone during the surgery, and after all their progress in therapy, apparently the Tower's residents had been convinced that Bucky wasn't going to kill them all in their sleep. Bucky wasn't sure how they felt about that, since they didn't feel stable all the time or even all that often, but they did know that when they were with Steve, they didn't feel like killing anyone, not even themself. And now they were in Steve's bed, and Steve was happy, not wringing his hands with worry, and not trying to convince Bucky that he just wanted to be friends.

Instead, Steve was laying next to them, letting Bucky use his chest as a pillow, letting Bucky kiss him. They couldn't really _do_ much, because Bucky was still healing, and pretty much any activity of any kind was off limits allow Bucky time to heal, but they could lay there and cuddle and listen to Steve talk. Steve's voice was soothing, and he told the best stories. It should have been depressing, having Steve tell them about their former life like it'd happened to someone else, but it wasn't. Steve told them all about growing up, and the stupid shit they'd gotten up to together, about about Bucky's family, and how they'd hidden Bucky's presentation. He'd talked about the army, and how he'd gotten rejected over and over, and then talked about the super soldier serum in a way that made it sound like he'd never told Bucky about it before, but he was now. He talked about Peggy and about what the Commandos had gotten up to, and he talked about putting the plane into the water. He talked until his voice ran hoarse.

“I love you.” Bucky said, when Steve had finally stopped talking.

Steve was speechless.

“I do. I love you. I want to – I wanna be with you Steve. Like. For real. I know we've kind of done it before, but we've never really been together, have we? Like, officially?”

“No.” Steve's voice was raw, and Bucky didn't think it was from the talking.

“Well, I wanna. Will you go steady with me Steve?” Bucky felt a little silly asking like they were still in the forties, but it was the way they knew to ask.

“Yes. Fuck. Yes, Bucky. Yeah. I – yes.”

“And you're not mad that I – that we can't have kids?”

“No! No, Bucky. I never thought we'd be able to anyway. I mean.” Steve looked away and his face contorted with grief, and Bucky knew Steve was thinking about the baby they'd lost. Maybe Steve thought they didn't remember, but they did. Sad things seemed easier, that way.

“I'm not going to lie, if it happened I'd be over the moon, but I'm not expecting it. Hell, I'm expecting it not to happen. I'm. I'm making a mess of this. I love you too, Bucky, no matter what happens. Whether we can have kids or can't have them. I love you.”

“I knew you did!” Bucky said, grinning now, “I heard you say that, when you thought I was asleep. But you made me say it first, you huge coward.”

Steve blushed and scratched his head. “I didn't want to – I mean, everything was already so hard for you, with coming back to yourself and everything, I didn't want to add my feelings onto that burden. Plus, I mean, just because it's legal now and everyone in this century seems to think it's okay, its still hard, you know? I didn't know if you'd want to.”

“Course I would, idiot. I love you.”

Steve smiled at him. “I love you too. Jerk. Now stop talking and rest. You're supposed to be healing, remember?”

“Right, like you woulda stayed in bed if it was you and you were still tiny.” Bucky grumbled, but they laid back, and got comfortable, and rested.

xxx

Steve found them an apartment of their own the next week. It was on the top floor of a high-end apartment complex a few blocks away from the Tower. Not so far away that Steve couldn't get to work and Bucky to therapy, but far enough away to give them some breathing room. The apartment was really more of a condo that took up half the floor. The other half was currently inhabited by Sam and paid for by – well, someone who wasn't Sam, Bucky wasn't sure if it was Tony or Steve's apparently never-ending pension fund.

The pre-trial had been as much of a success as it could have been. Bucky had been declared incompetent and unable to stand trial. Sam was appointed his guardian, and Bucky was made a ward of the state. Miss Walters was able to get Bucky's pension fund re-instated, and after viewing the evidence, a closed panel decided that Bucky was indeed a POW and agreed to sign off on the benefits due his time served under enemy hands. Bucky wouldn't have direct access to their money, as a ward of the state, but Sam could get out whatever Bucky needed in the meantime, and Pepper had set up some excellent investment counseling, so Bucky's money was going to be much better managed then they could have ever done with it anyway.

Bucky was making excellent progress both with reading and writing English, and had amassed a veritable library of books in a variety of languages. Steve half-heartedly complained about it, but he kept assembling bookshelves anyways, and Bucky knew Steve was reading just as many of the books as they were. Bucky was also taking the time to make sure they visited with Bea, and had learned a good bit of ASL. All the Avengers had taken a shine to the young mutant, Clint especially, and on the days he visited, nearly every member of the team found reasons to drop by when they normally would have keep to themselves.

Bucky had a rather intensive schedule. Besides their visits with Bea, they had to go to therapy three times a week, check in with Sam at least one other time a week than that, and they had physical therapy with Bruce twice a week, which mostly involved yoga and tea and some intense stretching. Bucky sparred with Natasha when they wanted a challenge, and made use of the Tower's extensive gym whenever they were there for any of their other appointments.

They still had chronic pain, especially in that hated seam between arm and shoulder, which Tony hadn't been able to do anything about. Sam introduced them to spoon theory, and while Bucky was grateful there was actually something that said that it was okay that they felt terrible and that sometimes they wouldn't be able to do everything that a 'normal' person would, it also made them bitter, because Steve hadn't had kind people telling him it was alright if he didn't feel well, it was okay if he was sick, just focus on getting better and try again tomorrow. No. Everyone had looked down on him for being chronically ill, had whispered about what a bad omega he was, never being able to bear young for his alpha. Steve had clawed his way out of bed every day and had worked a job and gone to school even when he felt miserable. Bucky had done their best but they hadn't been able to make enough money to just have Steve stay home.

When it got cold the metal in their bones seemed to radiate cold, and it made them miserable and tired. On those days, Bucky usually never made it farther than the closet to pull out their electric blanket and turn it on, and then they went right back to bed. Sometimes Steve joined them, and they'd cuddle and make out until Bucky was warm all the way through, and then they'd fuck slow and steadily until they'd both come and were laying boneless beside each other on the mattress.

They were together now. Steve was Bucky's honest to god partner, no two ways to go about it. They still hadn't decided what terminology they were going to use – were they partners or mates or was Steve their boyfriend? They weren't fiancees because, well, they weren't going to jump right into getting married, as much as Bucky thought that would kind of be romantic. But they were together.

Things weren't perfect; they probably wouldn't be for a while, they might not ever be. The media had finally caught wind of the whole thing; the internet had exploded into controversy above and beyond the shit storm that was already going on when someone finally put two and two together and realized just who the Winter Soldier actually was. Steve – Steve, the sentimental idiot that he was, actually came out on live television. Bucky didn't remember what the interview was originally supposed to be about, but the Winter Soldier came up quite quickly, and Steve spent the nation spinning on its axis when he confessed to always being an alpha, that Bucky had been his omega all along, and that they'd basically been together since Bucky's first heat. Then he announced that Bucky had been found innocent of all charges by the military tribunal, and that anyone who had a problem with the decision could start by taking it up with Steve, because he and Bucky were together, and he had been raised that an omega's problems were an alpha's problems, and he was determined to be an equal partner in all things.

The general public was rather more supporting than Bucky had imagined. Among the younger populace, Bucky was actually something of a hero. The story twisted into a long-lost love story rather then one of death and torture, and Bucky was actually – grateful. Even if it hadn't been anywhere near as romantic as the internet community seemed to be hoping it was, it was refreshing that an entire generation of people were more interested in their love life than their past. It was also more than a little disturbing, and Bucky wasn't used to their new found fame at all, and generally stayed out of public as much as possible.

There had been hold out groups of course. Many people had called for Steve's resignation, and demanded that someone who would be publicly with a male omega clearly didn't represent the America ideal, and thought he should step down as Captain America. But just as many more were in favor of it, and seemed to respect Steve for coming out and admitting the whole thing. Steve was technically unemployed, but he'd been unemployed since he'd taken down SHIELD in the first place. The military released a statement saying they had no intention of court-martialing Captain Rogers, and Stark officially signed Steve on as a contract employee for Stark Industries, and that seemed to be the end of it. People still talked about it, and sensationalist television still showed outraged people going on about how Steve was 'living in sin,' but as far as anything that mattered went, it seemed like things had actually resolved in their favor.

Bucky almost couldn't believe it.

But no matter how often they woke from nightmares where everything had just been a dream, that they were back in the chair again, back with HYDRA again – they always woke to Steve beside them. Eventually Steve would start going on missions again, but for now, he was focused on Bucky's recovery, and he was always there when Bucky needed him. For better or for worse, Steve belonged to Bucky, and Bucky belonged to Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who stuck it out this far!! I'd love to hear what you think about it! I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I have writing it. :3

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos keep me going. :3


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